Moon Over the Tower
by Crystal Dawn
Summary: A rash of killings. A lonely castle. And a Count that needs a simple village girl for his own purposes. What ties these all together, and what will Orihime do when she discovers the Count's dark secret? AU!
1. Chapter One

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter One

**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness. Should be read with the lights off.

**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

**Author's Notes:** Sorry I've not been writing at all lately! I've been really swamped with work and feeling under the weather, so it's been bleeding into my writing to the point that I don't want to anymore. I've also been taking on other projects (like playing video games and making shimeji) that have been sucking my time out. And then I even decided to neglect my other fics to start a new one (that hopefully I can plow through for a little while before I get back to the others). Don't hate me for it! I'm just trying to get out of my writing funk!

Also, as a note, I don't know the proper forms of address for this time and place, so I'm defaulting to standard English titles.

* * *

The wind whistled through black branches, shaking them and causing them to jostle together. The bony, leafless fingers of the trees formed a canopy over the cold forest trail. The late November night had already settled over the rustic countryside, depositing a chill deep in the bones of anyone brave enough to venture outside.

One such person had found her way into the black forest after sundown. The unfortunate had lost track of time in her work and found herself pushed back into the barren woods as the moon rose. Currently, her feet pounded the leaf-littered trail, running from a phantom pursuer.

The worst part was that she couldn't hear it. Whatever was chasing her, it was completely silent. The only sign of pursuit at all was the flying leaves springing up from either side of the trail. The fleeing person knew of a surety, however, that if she stopped running, she wouldn't have another chance to get away.

This was the rumor that had been circulating through the village. This creature, whatever it was, had been picking wayward villagers off for months. The villagers had gotten wary enough that very few dared venture out after dark anymore, and those were usually only in case of emergency. Still, the creature did not go hungry.

Panting, the villager looked over her shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of her pursuer in vain. Was she even running the right way? Panic seized her as she realized she was running deeper into the forest instead of out of it.

Tears spilled from her eyes, blurring her vision for a moment before she impacted into something hard and unyielding. Her head whirled for a moment, trying to get her bearings. What had she run into? There was nothing there a second ago!

No. Oh no.

Her eyes widened as she gasped for breath, seeing for the first time the pale visage of the creature that had been chasing her. He was all sharp teeth and bright burning eyes glistening in the full moon's light. She felt her determination wilt as his cold iron grip wrapped around her wrist.

"Just where d'ya think you're goin'?"

The only response she could give was a quickly stifled scream.

* * *

The sound of a howl sent a shiver down Orihime Inoue's spine. It was already well after dark and she just couldn't relax. Not with the recent rash of killings. Not until she knew Rangiku was alright.

Even though Rangiku was the older of the pair of adoptive sisters, she was hardly the responsible one in the family. That had been Orihime's older brother Sora, until he passed away two years prior. Now the mantle had been passed to her, it seemed.

Before he'd been taken from them, he had looked after both girls warmly. Rangiku was particularly fond of him and Orihime had fancied quite often that she would become her sister in actuality as well as just in name before much longer. But a similar rash of killings then had quashed that hope.

But this was nothing new for their quaint little hamlet. Nestled deep in the Carpathian mountains, the town rarely saw travelers or outsiders. Yet every few years a wave of deaths would strike as though out of the blue. Many of the villagers were widowed or orphaned, often banding together with others like them for companionship and protection.

That was how Rangiku had come to join Orihime and Sora. The two blood siblings had lost their parents early, and Rangiku's only family had disappeared when she was six. Sora had stepped up to the role of father and big brother for the girls, earning a living by cutting wood and had managed to even secure them a house. And it had continued in this vein for a good ten years before his death.

Now, at sixteen, Orihime helped out around town where she could, tending sheep and chickens for the villagers and trying her best to keep the wolves from the forest away. Rangiku worked in the local tavern, serving food and drinks to the woodcutters and farmers. Between the two of them, they managed to keep their household afloat.

But lately, Rangiku had been staying out after dark, even knowing the risks. Orihime had no questions as to where she was or who she was with. She had been very friendly with the local blacksmith lately, a taciturn, black-haired fellow around Rangiku's age with scars all down his face. And while Orihime liked Mr. Hisagi very well, she did worry that people might start to gossip.

Which brought her to this point: sitting listlessly at their large, oaken dinner table and fidgeting as she waited anxiously for Rangiku to return home.

"Orihime!"

The cheery voice was accompanied by the sound of their heavy wooden door scraping against the floor and slamming back into place. Orihime looked up at her older sister briefly before standing and rushing over to her. She flung her arms around the taller girl's neck to give her a tight hug. As Orihime leaned into her, though, she could feel Rangiku slump just a bit beneath her weight.

"Ra-Rangiku?" she asked doubtfully, leaning back to get a good look at her dazed sister, "What's wrong? You seem kind of weak... and pale..." And it was true; the normally vivacious blonde did seem a bit weaker, a bit slower. There were light bags under her eyes and her normally peachy skin was pale. Orihime thought she looked very fragile just then, probably for the first time ever.

"Eh? Nothing's wrong, silly," Rangiku responded quickly, injecting some energy into her previously tired demeanor, "I feel as good as I ever have!" She even made a muscle with her forearm. Somehow, Orihime wasn't convinced, and after another moment or two she decided on the most likely cause of Rangiku's sudden lack of energy.

"Rangiku!" she exclaimed, scandalized, "I hope Mr. Hisagi knows! He had better take responsibility!" Rangiku blinked for a second before latching onto Orihime's cheek and pulling.

"It's not _that_," she said curtly, "And you aren't supposed to know anything about that until you're married, anyway." Orihime winced beneath her big sister's onslaught.

"Oww! No fair!" she complained, "And you know about it, and you're not married!" Rangiku was unfazed.

"That's different," she chided, "I'm older than you, and who says I'll be unmarried forever? Anyway, I'm just a little tired is all. I've probably not been sleeping properly."

Rangiku finally released her little sister's cheek, allowing Orihime to rub it vigorously before moving to get Rangiku her supper. She ladled the blonde a generous portion out of the stew pot in the fireplace and handed her the wooden bowl.

"Oh, what did you make?" Rangiku asked eagerly, peeking curiously into the bowl. Orihime offered it to her with a smile.

"It's lamb with vegetables!" Orihime replied proudly, "I didn't have any apples or pears to go in it, but I think it turned out alright anyway!" Rangiku thoughtfully took a bite before favoring her little sister with a smile.

"It's wonderful as usual, Orihime," she gushed, before digging into the bowl with gusto.

Orihime watched her sister devour the soup as though she hadn't eaten in days, a small smile playing across her face. Her happy thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door, causing her to jolt upright.

"Who could that be?" Rangiku asked from behind her spoon. Orihime looked apprehensively at the door.

"I-I don't know," she said hesitantly, "We don't get visitors out this late, do we? Who would come over after dark? Mr. Hisagi, maybe?" Rangiku shrugged.

"Who knows?"

The knock came again, causing Orihime to jump out of her chair and untie the apron from around her full, brown skirt. She flung it over the back of the chair before scurrying away from the warmth of the fireplace towards the door.

"C-Coming!" she called, before dragging the heavy wood door open. What she saw behind it knocked the breath out of her and made her cold all over.

On the other side of the threshold stood a man dressed in the fine clothing of the nobility. He had sharp, icy blue eyes, the left one covered by a monocle. His black hair was slicked back behind his ears and nearly shone blue in the firelight. Orihime thought his pale skin looked quite cold; perhaps it was a trick of the light, but it almost seemed to have a bluish undertone to it as well.

Orihime watched him in silence for several awkward moments, wondering what in the world someone like this was doing in their small town. Perhaps he was a wayward traveler who had lost his way? Orihime could see a coach, complete with coachman and lantern before their house. It would certainly explain why he was out after dark.

"The inn is just down the way here, if you follow this..."

She trailed off as the strange man regarded her with a confused expression. Was he not lost?

"Inn?" he asked skeptically, "I am not looking for an inn. May I enter?" Now it was Orihime's turn to regard her guest quizzically.

"Eh? Oh, of course!" she replied with a small blush, "C-Come right in!" The man finally moved forward, crossing the threshold and casting a wary eye around the large, open living space. Of course it was sparsely furnished, but Orihime had never thought to be embarrassed of it before now. This man seemed too far above her in station.

"Orihime!" Rangiku chided from her place at the dinner table, "Don't invite strangers in! This isn't the inn!" Orihime fretted, worried that their guest would find them ungracious.

"It's okay!" she said nervously, "I'm sure he's just lost! Right, Mister..."

"Ishida," the man cooly supplied, "Uryuu Ishida. I am afraid I am not visiting. I am here on business." Both Orihime and Rangiku cast each other a curious look.

"What business do you have with us, Mr. Ishida?" Orihime asked politely, pulling a chair out for him, "Please have a seat! Would you like something to eat or drink?" The black-haired man waved off her courtesy.

"That won't be necessary," he said shortly, "I will only be here a moment." Rangiku folded her arms over her generous chest and regarded the stranger skeptically.

"Well, what is it you need, Mr. Ishida?" she asked bluntly. Rangiku was never one to beat around the bush, and Orihime could already tell she was critical of the newcomer. The man seemed unfazed as he adjusted his monocle.

"I've been sent here by my master," he began, "To find a woman of a very specific description. I was told she could be found here, and I see I haven't been misled." Rangiku smirked, uncrossing her arms.

"Well, if you're looking for a specific woman, you've found her," she said airily. Ishida's eyes narrowed as he regarded her.

"Not you," he sniffed before turning back toward a confused Orihime, "Her. She fits the description perfectly." Orihime startled, her amber eyes widening. Rangiku looked somewhat flustered.

"Ehh? Me? What description?" She pointed to herself as she spoke, blinking innocently.

"It doesn't matter," Ishida replied, clearing his throat, "All that matters is that the Count has requested your presence at his residence, effective immediately."

Orihime froze in place. She had never heard of anyone venturing up to the tower on the hill overlooking the hamlet. No one seemed to go in or come out, either. And as for the Count, no one in recent memory had even laid eyes on him. Some of the older folk in town claimed to have seen him in their own youths, but it had been many years since then. He had been a handsome, affable, middle-aged, black-haired man back then; Orihime figured he must be absolutely ancient by now. In fact, if it hadn't been for the few lights the townsfolk sometimes saw in the windows, they'd have just assumed the castle was empty and that the nobility had abandoned them.

"Now hold on just a minute!" Rangiku exclaimed, standing from her place at the table. She slammed her hands on the table in the process, rattling the wooden dishes. But almost as soon as she had stood, she swooned, bringing a hand to her face. She leaned heavily against the eating surface with a groan as Orihime rushed around the table to her.

"Sister, you're not well," Orihime chided her, "I'll just go see what he wants. It can't be that bad!" Rangiku leveled a steely glare at the black-haired man in the fancy waistcoat.

"If your decrepit old master wants a young mistress, tell him to look elsewhere!" Rangiku proclaimed, leveling an accusatory finger at Ishida. He attempted to hide a sickly blush behind his hand.

"That is hardly the case, madam," he murmured, causing Rangiku to ruffle at the form of address.

"Madam? I'm hardly nineteen!" Orihime patted her back; she knew these two should be separated as soon as possible. Ishida was only going to exacerbate Rangiku's strange new condition.

"In any case," Ishida continued undeterred, "He only needs the lady to spend the next month in his residence. After that, she will be free to return. She will also be generously compensated for her time."

That was all Orihime needed to hear. She always hated how Rangiku worked so hard for the both of them, doing work that Orihime could tell she didn't really want to do, and being unable to help. Sure she brought in a little from tending sheep and picking carrots, but Rangiku did the lion's share of the work.

"I'll do it," she answered succinctly, surprising Rangiku and causing Ishida to nod.

"Orihime, are you sure?" Rangiku asked, not caring that Ishida could hear her, "That dirty old man could do anything to you! Then how will you find a good husband?"

"It's alright, sister," Orihime answered, nodding with determination, "If he tries anything funny, I'll be sure to fight him off and come straight home!" Ishida cleared his throat as if to remind them both he was still there.

"The master is not a dirty old man," Ishida said dryly, "Now if you would be so kind as to gather your things, I'll inform the coachman that we're leaving." Orihime blinked owlishly at him.

"All I have are my clothes," Orihime thought out loud, "How many changes should I bring?" She could swear she saw Ishida wrinkle his nose.

"That will not be necessary," he began before being interrupted again by Rangiku.

"See?" she pointed an accusatory finger at the black-haired man, "He's going to keep you naked, or in some wicked, lewd outfit for his pleasure!" Orihime blushed to her toes while Ishida sighed in exasperation.

"It will not be necessary for her to bring clothing because the Count will provide her proper clothing to wear while in his residence," he ground out, "Now if you're done with your baseless accusations, we really must be on our way." Orihime noticed the concerned look Rangiku was giving her and smiled to reassure her.

"It's okay, Rangiku," she said softly, "It's only for a month, and I'm sure he's harmless. And once I do this, you won't have to work as hard!" Rangiku still looked doubtful, but acquiesced nonetheless.

"Alright, Orihime," she relented, "But if he tries anything strange, come home straight away." Orihime nodded with determination and headed towards the stairs leading to her loft.

A few minutes later, Orihime dashed down the stairs, her scant personal effects contained in a small bag. Ishida quirked an eyebrow.

"Is that it?" he asked skeptically, looking somewhat confused. Orihime returned the confused look in kind.

"I don't own that much, sir," she said innocently. Ishida looked down to adjust his monocle again. Orihime idly wondered how it stayed in place.

"Very well, then," he replied, leading her toward the door, "We'll be off."

As they reached the door, Orihime cast one last look over her shoulder at Rangiku. The older girl still looked worried, and Orihime was sure Ishida had done nothing to help that. She cast her a sad smile and waved a bit to reassure her.

"Goodbye, sister."

* * *

The carriage ride to the castle on the hill took roughly half an hour and was mostly uneventful. Orihime spent the bumpy ride shivering from the cold and looking outside the carriage. She knew there were terrifying, murderous creatures outside at night; the other villagers rarely ventured outside at night and never traveled after dark at all.

When asked if he was aware of this, Ishida dismissed Orihime's concerns with an airy wave. He simply said there was nothing for her to fear and the subject was dropped. She figured it might have something to do with the carriageman.

He was a giant of a man, standing well over two heads taller than Orihime. His shaggy brown hair fell into his eyes, capped with a black velvet top hat. Although he said hello to Orihime with a kind nod, he was distant the rest of the trip. Orihime figured he just didn't like to talk. She also figured that he would look intimidating enough to frighten off any wolves or specters that might want to attack their carriage.

Upon asking, she was told by Ishida that the driver's name was Sado and that he was from Spain. Orihime thought briefly that this explained why he was so taciturn; perhaps his Hungarian was not very good. Or perhaps he was just mute. Either way, he seemed like a fine driver.

Still, as she peered out the fine glass windows of the carriage (her own house didn't even have glass windows!), she could swear she saw movement in the bushes along the roadside. She would have simply attributed it to the wind had it not been for the two glowing embers she saw following the carriage. When she turned to ask Ishida if he saw them, however, they had already disappeared.

In due time, they reached the looming parapets of the castle on the hill. Orihime was awestruck; although she had often seen the dark architecture from down in the village, she had never been quite brave enough to venture very close to it. As the carriage pulled around to the front walk, she could tell the castle was even more impressive up close.

As she alighted and was brought into the main hall, even more splendid sights met Orihime's eyes. The large room was only sparsely lit, candelabras flickering at the corners of the room. Even in the dim light, she could see rich tapestries along the walls that seemed to be hundreds of years old, vases and urns glinting at the corners, a crystal chandelier that looked like it belonged in an opera house in Vienna, and much more. And the centerpiece: a large painting of a family, looming above an even larger, unlit fireplace.

It was striking for its beauty. In the back were a stately, black-haired man and an elegant woman with golden brown hair and a kind face. Before them were three children - two girls and a scowling little boy with bright red hair. Orihime noted the odd hair color; hers wasn't much different. It had caused her no end of grief when she was younger. But it was his stand-offish expression she found most charming.

The oddest thing about the portrait, though, was that it looked as if it had been painted several decades ago. Orihime wondered idly if the man in the portrait was the Count who was rumored to live here. If that was true, then the little boy standing with him would also be an old man by now.

But before Orihime could think any more about this, she was being ushered up a staircase off to the side of the room by Ishida.

"Come now," he said neatly, "We've kept the master waiting well long enough."

Orihime nodded dumbly, following as she was told. As she ascended the staircase, she cast one more look at the family portrait above the empty fireplace. Finally, noticing the chill on her own skin, it dawned on her that someone should have built a fire by now.

"Excuse me, Mr. Ishida," she began, rubbing the arms that she only just realized were cold, "Shouldn't someone build a fire in the fireplace? It's a bit chilly tonight..." Ishida's eyes went wide, and for a brief second Orihime thought his monocle might pop out altogether. But then he exchanged looks with the Spaniard and the moment passed.

"The... The great hall is usually unoccupied this time of year, so we don't waste fuel on it," he hurriedly explained, causing Orihime to blink. Well, it did make sense; she wouldn't bother heating her loft with a fire when she could just take a heating stone with her to bed.

So it came as little surprise to her when Ishida then plucked a candelabra from a nearby table and lit it from some nearby candles. The passageways ahead were also unlit, owing to a lack of use, Orihime figured. Then again, if the Count knew they were coming, shouldn't they already have been lit for them? Perhaps he was low on staff and that was what she'd been called here for?

Ishida led the little party down the wide, winding stone hallways. Orihime looked side to side, taking in all the sparse furnishings around her. There was, of course, a rug running the length of the hallway, and some unlit sconces, but past that, there wasn't much of note. And this place was even draftier than the great hall, although that was to be expected.

Finally, Orihime found herself standing behind Ishida before a large set of oaken doors. Sado stood to her left, although the large man seemed hardly interested in her. After three heavy raps with his knuckles (who knew such a slight man could hit so hard?), the doors swung inward to reveal a large living space.

"Count Kurosaki, I have brought the village girl, as requested," Ishida said. Orihime was so absorbed in taking in the new surroundings that she hardly heard him.

Just like the great hall, this room was also scarcely lit, a candelabra on the desk being the only real source of light. And there in the corner was another unlit fireplace. The room itself was richly furnished with a large mahogany desk, a stately couch and armchairs, several fine paintings, and tapestries along the floors and walls. There were large bookshelves yawning with heavy volumes; Orihime wanted to pick through and open them and see if she could read them. And there before the window was a tall, thin figure with spiky, disheveled orange-red hair.

Orihime briefly wondered if this man was the son of the boy from the painting downstairs. There was no way the boy in that painting could have been less than fifty years old, but that hair color was so unique it couldn't have been a coincidence. As he turned to look at the newcomers, Orihime was taken with how identical he looked to the red haired boy. His eyes, his creased brow, his mouth, it was all the same.

More than that, though, the chill of the room began to fully settle on her. Goosebumps were rising all along her arms and her teeth clenched to keep from chattering. Even worse, as the Count turned his dark brown gaze toward her and began sizing her up, she could feel her nipples starting to harden beneath her thin white blouse. Orihime inwardly cursed the cold and covered her chest self-consciously. If no other part of her body was warm, at least her cheeks would be now.

The Count himself seemed unmoved as his eyes flickered over her face and down her body and back up again. He was tall and lean, but more muscular than Ishida; Orihime was sure she only came up to his shoulder at most. Aside from the shock of reddish-orange hair, he had a strong, handsome face. His eyes were keen, his nose was straight, and his jaw was firm. As he turned, she could see the grace and fluidity of his movements; his fine clothes only helped to accentuate the beauty in his motion. Orihime felt she wouldn't be mistaken if she said he was the most impressive man she'd ever laid eyes on.

As he moved closer to get a better look at her, Orihime felt her knees weaken. All thoughts of the cold dampness of the castle fled her mind as he drew near. Instead, her eyes were drawn to his; as he stepped towards her, she could see better their color. They were the most vivid brown she'd ever seen, a rich woody color with a cinnamon undertone; gold flecks accentuated the color, making his eyes almost glow. Orihime tore her eyes away from his face, dropping her gaze to the fine oak floor in a hurried curtsy.

"Th-Thank you for the invitation, my lord," she said softly, not daring to look up for fear of staring. After a few more moments, presumably of him studying her, the Count finally spoke.

"Thank you, Uryuu," he said firmly, his rich voice sending a pleasurable little tingle up Orihime's spine, "She'll do well." At this, Orihime peered up at him curiously from beneath her long lashes.

"U-Umm, e-excuse me, my lord," she said softly, trying to keep her teeth from chattering, "D-Did you need me for a servant? O-Or a cook?" The Count regarded her imperiously, as he gazed down his nose at her.

"Nothing like that," he replied, "I need you to pretend to be my fiancée."


	2. Chapter Two

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Two  
**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness. Should be read with the lights off.  
**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

**Author's Note:** This is coming along faster than I thought it would! Which is good, maybe I've found a new way to update fics that'll take less time than the old way! Either way, please enjoy this new chapter!

As a note, I'm going to be away from my computer over Christmas, so you'll have to wait a while for chapter three. I'll still be able to work on it with my BlackBerry, I just won't be able to upload until I get home again.

* * *

Orihime stared straight ahead, her hands clutched tightly together. She was perched on the edge of the massive bed she'd been given, her feet barely grazing the floor. She felt something like a princess in a fairy story; the main difference being that she wasn't entirely sure how romantic this story could be.

As soon as the Count had told her what he wanted, she'd been shuffled off to the large room he'd arranged for her. Her new quarters were larger than her entire house; the bed she'd been given was as big as two of the one she had back home. She had been assigned a maid servant, a black-haired girl named Tatsuki who was close to her own age. Tatsuki had lit the large fireplace across the room from Orihime's bed, filling the room with light and warmth and chasing some of the damp chill out of the cold stone room.

Now, even though she was sleepy and Tatsuki had given her a fine linen night shrift to wear, she couldn't get to sleep. It wasn't that she was afraid; no, this castle was built like a fortress, and something told her that for as gruff as the Count looked, he wouldn't allow any harm to come to her. It was just that her mind was crowded with the night's confusing events.

Putting aside the eerie eyes she'd seen during her carriage ride - she was certain whatever it was couldn't reach her here - there was the matter of why she was called here in the first place. The explanation she had been given was quite perfunctory and succinct. The Count needed her to pretend to be his fiancee to get his father off his back. The older Marquis Kurosaki had been pressuring him to find a wife for some time and had given him until Christmastide to do so. As soon as his father left at the beginning of the new year, Orihime would be free to return to her normal life in the village with her sister; the Count would tell his father she'd had a tragic accident, thus giving him a convenient excuse to avoid the topic further in the future.

This was all a bit intimidating to Orihime. She was a simple village girl with few fine manners and a flighty imagination. Tatsuki had been tasked with giving her instructions in etiquette, but the presence of a man older and more powerful than the Count himself would surely intimidate her into complete silence.

And then there was the matter of the Count himself. He was tall and imposing and devastatingly handsome. As pointless as she knew it was - her entire reason for being here was so he could get_ out_ of being married - she couldn't help but feel attracted to him. She'd never had this kind of reaction to any of the boys in town, so why was the Count different? Just the idea of talking to him was enough to make her stomach feel like it was trying to turn itself inside-out.

Then there was the castle itself. Although Ishida had assured her there was no need for a fire in the great hall, surely the Count would've had one in his study. And she'd had to ask Tatsuki for one of her own. It was as if they didn't feel cold at all! Orihime couldn't understand it at all; with the bitter mountain weather, how could they not need fires? Unless they were some kind of ghosts, in which case she was sure they wouldn't even be able to handle the firewood to build a fire in the first place.

She had also been instructed not to roam the castle with abandon. The Count had personally forbidden her from coming into his rooms and had told her to stick mostly to her own for the time being. In particular, he didn't want her out of her rooms alone after dark. The reason he'd given was that if his staff was asleep and if she happened to get lost or injured, she would have no help. On the other hand, she was permitted in his library, in the great hall, and in the dining room; when asked if she could see the kitchen sometime, he also reluctantly agreed. Aside from that, though, Orihime was much too shy to want to steal into his private quarters, so that all worked out without much fuss. Still, it helped to reemphasize that even though she was a guest here for the next month, she was still just a commoner.

In any event, she would begin training with Tatsuki first thing in the morning. By evening, she should be fit to at least have dinner in a respectable manner. Orihime nodded to herself with determination; she would do her best and then return to Rangiku none the worse for wear. She pulled her legs up and slid beneath the comforter on her bed, tucking herself in neatly. If she could just quell her excitement, she could get to sleep.

* * *

"Well? Say something."

The black-haired man with the monocle allowed the edge of his lip to pull up into something almost resembling a grin. Ever since the village girl had left the study, his master had been sullenly pacing the length of the room.

"What do you want me to say?" the redheaded man replied gruffly.

Uryuu watched him intently. He had known Ichigo Kurosaki for years; ever since his birth, he'd been destined to serve the Kurosaki family. In that time, he'd come to be able to read Ichigo's moods, no matter how sullen he became. And right now, he was heavily agitated. It didn't take any special knowledge to figure that out. No, the important part was _why._

"You know, if you want to back out, I can always take her back to the village," Uryuu said, removing his monocle to clean it on his coat sleeve, "It's not as if she belongs here anyway." Ichigo stopped pacing long enough to cast him an exasperated glare.

"No," Ichigo said firmly, "I'm not backing out. I'm not going to let that old man force me into a marriage I don't want." Now it was Uryuu's turn to look wearily at Ichigo.

"Why do you protest so much, anyway?" the valet asked, "You already know he'd pick the Marquise Kuchiki. It isn't as though the two of you aren't already close." Ichigo froze, an unreadable look flitting across his brown eyes.

"Would _you_ want to tell her she was going to be my wife?" Ichigo asked skeptically. Uryuu suddenly realized his mistake; that look in Ichigo's eyes had been _fear._

"Good point," he conceded. Uryuu knew very well what Ichigo was driving at.

Ichigo had been close friends with the Marquise, Rukia, since they were children. She was always quite willful and independent and ruthless when she wanted her way. And that was the sticking point.

Ichigo and Uryuu were both well aware that Rukia had no intentions of being married off for political purposes. In fact, Ichigo had been known to spread rumors of her bloodthirsty nature from time to time as a favor to her, to keep the suitors at bay. Nothing would make a man reconsider a marriage proposal faster than the prospect of no longer having the means to perform his marital duties.

Ichigo had his own pride to think of, as well. He and Uryuu were well aware that Rukia had her heart set on her brother's valet, and had for some time now. How her brother, the Marquis of Kuchiki, allowed that dalliance, Uryuu didn't know, but he knew Ichigo didn't want the headache of being cuckolded before he was even married.

And neither man was entirely sure that Rukia wouldn't make those unpleasant rumors a reality if he tried to pursue a marriage with her. They weren't inclined to find out either way.

And unfortunately for his father, Ichigo had no inclination to go hunting down a bride, either. Which left Uryuu where he now found himself; watching his hard-headed master pace over his course of action.

"Why did you have to pick someone like... like _that_?" Ichigo finally blurted out, causing Uryuu to arch an eyebrow.

"You told me to pick someone your father would like," Uryuu replied calmly. Ichigo simply snorted.

"I didn't mean for you to pick someone that reminds me of my _mother_," Ichigo shot back sharply.

Now it was Uryuu's turn to be incredulous. While the village girl bore a superficial resemblance to the Marquise Kurosaki, it was only in the vaguest detail. They were both generously curvy, both light-complected, and both had an honest, open air about them; it was for that reason that he had chosen her in the first place. He knew it was those same qualities that had endeared Ichigo's father to his mother, but he hadn't actually thought they were strong enough to remind _Ichigo_ of her.

Suddenly, Uryuu realized what Ichigo's problem was. Yes, the girl reminded Ichigo vaguely of his mother, but that wouldn't be enough to cause him this much discomfort. He must have been attracted to her on some level to elicit that kind of reaction from him. It was definitely a new, unsettling feeling for his master, he was sure.

"I honestly don't think there's that much similarity, lord," Uryuu noted cooly, "Just enough that your father will be pleased and won't ask too many questions." Ichigo huffed, but was finally still. After a long silence, he spoke again.

"She smells good," he said quietly, his voice a low rumble now. Uryuu couldn't resist the opportunity to needle his master a bit more.

"I believe it is just you, sire," he replied, knowing it would draw Ichigo's ire, "I hadn't noticed, personally." That wasn't exactly true; the girl _did_ have a pleasant, attractive smell about her. She was clearly still fresh and innocent. It was hard to miss. Either way, it got Ichigo's hackles up again, which made the corners of Uryuu's mouth strain to tug upward.

"Don't be stupid," Ichigo murmured, "I know you can smell her, too." He had begun to occupy himself with his window, folding his arms behind his back as he surveyed his dark castle's courtyard. He refused to meet Uryuu's eyes; it didn't go unnoticed by the black-haired man. His small smirk faded.

"If it bothers you that much, avoid her," Uryuu said, feeling a chill for the first time in years, "You won't have to see her much over the next month, if at all. Just introduce her to your father and let her go." He had a bad feeling as to why Ichigo was discussing this with him now. It only got worse as he waited for Ichigo to respond.

"I'd like to avoid what happened with the Kurotsuchi girl," Ichigo finally said softly, "Or with Tatsuki." He knew the first incident was a sensitive topic with Uryuu; even now, the black-haired man froze at the mention of it. The second one hadn't been very pleasant, either. He felt his throat go dry at those unpleasant memories. He swallowed down a lump before he spoke again.

"Do you... trust yourself that little?" Uryuu finally asked, his voice strained. Ichigo cast him a look full of subtle pity over his shoulder. It left a bitter taste in Uryuu's mouth.

"You know how I can get when..." Ichigo said, looking away again as he trailed off, "I don't like the idea of her being here when it's time for that. But I don't think we can get around it." Uryuu knew exactly why he was so anxious.

"Sado, Miss Arisawa and I will help," Uryuu reassured him, "We'll keep her in her own quarters." Ichigo stayed absorbed in his window and didn't turn to face him.

"Thank you, Uryuu," he said, "I'll be counting on you."

* * *

Orihime awoke early, before dawn, the next morning. She wasn't exactly sure what to do with herself until Tatsuki arrived, so she contented herself with stoking her dying fire and poking around the now-warm room.

There were a few old books on a shelf - some epic poetry, some fairy tales - that caught her eye. She made a mental note to go back to those later. She knew the basics of how to read and write from attending church, although it was nothing fancy; she hoped this might give her an opportunity to improve.

Further into the room, there was also a large wardrobe. As she peered inside, Orihime saw the firelight shine on a collection of gowns, slippers, wraps, and gauzy material richer and more elaborate than anything she'd ever laid eyes on before. Her eyes widened, breath pulling in sharply. Was this what Mr. Ishida had meant when he told her she'd be given appropriate clothing?

Orihime snapped the wardrobe shut again, her face burning. She would be ridiculous in those clothes! It would be like wrapping a sheep in silk! They belonged on some beautiful noblewoman in a glamorous city like Vienna or Paris or Venice, not on some little peasant shepherdess! She briefly imagined herself wearing one of those fine, small-waisted gowns while bleating and being covered in wool; it was mortifying enough that she didn't dare open the wardrobe back up.

But that left the problem of just how she was going to get breakfast without wearing any of those fine gowns. Surely the servants would be up and about by now; it wasn't light out yet, but it was well late enough for them to be engaged by now, right? At home, she'd already be starting the morning's porridge by now. So surely she could just go down with her regular clothes on?

As she slipped out of her nightgown and back into the clothes she'd worn to the castle, Orihime allowed her mind to wander. She wondered if Rangiku was alright. Was she feeling better? Had she woken up on time? Orihime knew she didn't have to work until later in the morning, but she was worried she might sleep in. Had she started breakfast yet? She should have left instructions. Rangiku might burn the house down.

She tried to push the worry from her mind, latching onto the first thing she could think of, lest she go insane. That thing happened to be breakfast. What if the Count was there? No, that would be absurd; wouldn't he take his breakfast in his room? That was what nobility did, right? Breakfast in bed?

Orihime paused while tying her skirt, her cheeks heating up. The thought of the handsome Count waking up amid a swirl of sheets with bare chest and tousled red hair was enough to make her heart beat as fast as a scared rabbit.

"No!" She slapped both cheeks sharply, trying to drive the naughty thoughts away. At this rate, she was going to have something to confess before breakfast. And she didn't even know where the chapel was here!

Orihime finished dressing and stood before the elegant vanity she'd been provided. She ran the brush left there for her through her long hair before securing it against the side of her head with a perfumed comb. As she lifted it to her hair, she noted how lovely the comb was; it was ornately carved and inlaid with mother of pearl and a few pearls. A couple of red ribbons dangled from it, weaving themselves into her hair.

With that, Orihime went to the large door of her room and poked her head out. The dark, pre-dawn hallways were devoid of any servants, which Orihime took as a good sign. There would be fewer people to question her that way, and less chance she'd get in trouble if she wasn't supposed to go to the kitchen on her own.

After a few moment's deliberation, she headed out, candlestick in hand. This early in the morning, the castle was actually fairly eerie; the night before, there had been the hustle and bustle of getting her settled in, but now there seemed to be nothing. It was almost as if Orihime were walking through a dusty crypt. She couldn't imagine all the staff were asleep at this hour. Perhaps they were all simply in the kitchen?

When she finally got there, however, there was no one in sight. Even though it was clean, the kitchen itself looked barely used. Upon closer inspection, Orihime found some fresh provisions - cured ham, vegetables, beans, preserves, oats - and a few dusty pots and pans, but nothing like she would've imagined a lord and his retinue would use. In fact, the food that had been stocked there looked like it would barely feed one person for very long, let alone the four she'd already encountered. She wondered if perhaps the Count was actually struggling to survive, and if she should take any food at all.

Finally, her complaining stomach got the better of her and she gave in, deciding that she'd do no one any good if she starved to death. She took a cup or two of oats, set some water to boiling, and waited. Eventually she was able to mix together a little gruel. The kitchen itself was pretty drafty, as was the dining area, so she figured the hot meal would help warm her up.

Orihime took her bowl out to the desolate dining room just as the hazy gray light of early morning was beginning to peek through the heavy curtains. There were still no signs of life in the castle and no sounds of anyone stirring. She was completely alone. Maybe the Count slept in, so his servants had no reason to move about early? Maybe nobility could afford to be that lazy? Either way, it felt quite lonely to eat in the great, dark dining hall without another living soul around.

After finishing her gruel and cleaning her dishes, Orihime made her way back to her room. Dawn had come and gone by the time she made it back, so she at least no longer needed a candle. But the sky was covered with thick, heavy clouds that portended snow, so it was still dim and murky in the stone halls. Still, as curious as she was, the castle's forbidding atmosphere discouraged her from exploring - not to mention that her room was the only warm room in the entire castle, as far as she knew.

She made her way back to her room and back to the comfort of her large bed. She had expected Tatsuki to be waiting impatiently for her when she arrived, but the black-haired woman was still not there. Instead, Orihime was left to her own devices for most of the morning, looking through the books left in her room and resisting the urge to peek into the rich wardrobe she'd been gifted with.

Finally, half-way through the morning, the black-haired girl turned up. Her dress wasn't much different from what Orihime was used to wearing - dull and brown, but functional. She also appeared to at least be wearing warm undergarments; Orihime could see the warm woolen petticoats peeking out from beneath her skirts. Well, at least she wasn't imagining the cold here.

"Oh, good," Tatsuki said, gravitating to the fireplace, "You're already up. Are you ready to get dressed?" Orihime cocked her head in confusion.

"I'm already dressed," she said innocently. Tatsuki put her hands on her hips and clucked her tongue.

"Not for being a Countess-in-training, you aren't," she replied, moving toward the wardrobe, "You're going to have to get used to the clothes. You probably won't even be used to them by the time the Marquis gets here, so we might as well start early." Orihime shrank beneath her quilt.

"If I won't be used to them anyway, shouldn't we just skip this part?" she asked sheepishly, "I'm just going back home at the end of the month anyway." Tatsuki pulled a few articles of clothing out before giving Orihime a bored look.

"And then you'll look like some bumpkin that the Count picked up off the farm and shoved into fancy clothes," Tatsuki quipped, "Even if that _is_ true, we don't want the Marquis to know that." Orihime flinched. Even if it was true, she didn't need to be reminded.

"You don't have to say it like that," she weakly protested. Tatsuki ignored her comment as she pulled a long gown and some undergarments from the wardrobe.

"Come on, get up," she encouraged sternly, "Let's get you dressed."

Orihime did as she was told while the black-haired girl buzzed around, holding the dress up to her. She made a few notes, clucked her tongue a bit, and then began undressing Orihime.

"E-Ehh?" the redhead squeaked, "What are you doing? I-I can undress myself!" Tatsuki was completely undeterred.

"A lady doesn't," she replied, "Now hold still so I can get a good idea of your size. We can have Mr. Ishida take in whatever doesn't fit." Orihime quietly did as she was told while Tatsuki busied herself. The black-haired girl measured and pulled, tutting as she figured out Orihime's size.

"Mr. Ishida sews?" she asked finally. Tatsuki made a note on a small sheet of paper before tucking it into one of her skirt pockets.

"It's a hobby of his," she said as she picked up an embroidered wedge of white cloth, threaded with laces, "If he wasn't with the Count, I'm sure he'd be a tailor. Hold your arms up." Orihime did as she was told, holding her arms out to her sides. Tatsuki slipped the stiff fabric around her back and began fastening the metal clasps in front. Orihime watched her curiously.

"What's this?" she asked as Tatsuki moved to her back. Before she answered, she started pulling laces from the small of her back and in between her shoulder blades.

"A corset," Tatsuki replied, pulling the laces tight, "You'll need to get used to it." As the corset tightened, Orihime felt her midsection constrict. It straightened her back and pushed her generous bosom upward.

"H-How do you move in this?" she asked, starting to become a bit distressed. It was making it harder for her to breathe; how would anyone do chores in one of these things?

"Move?" she snorted, "Noblewomen don't need to move. They just need to look pretty." Orihime couldn't help but think Tatsuki sounded a little resentful.

"Do you... know many noblewomen?" Orihime asked, trying to get used to the feel of the tight garment.

"Just the Kurosaki ladies," Tatsuki replied, "Ichigo's mother and sisters. And a few friends of their family." Orihime's cheeks lit up with a dull shade of pink.

"Ichigo?" she asked gently.

"The Count," Tatsuki corrected as she continued with her lacing, "I've been serving his family since I was a child. They're all back in Budapest right now, though." Orihime took this new information in thoughtfully.

"Why isn't he with them?" she asked, hoping she wouldn't be seen as rude, "He could find a real wife that way, in the big city..." Tatsuki shook her head.

"He doesn't get along with his father," Tatsuki said gently, "That's why he's out here. This is their old family estate. And he doesn't want a wife. He has... problems with women." Orihime's curiosity was piqued.

"Problems?" she asked, hoping for more information. Tatsuki was wise to her and raised an eyebrow, though.

"Not my place to say," she replied, "It's better if you don't know at all." Orihime knew the topic was closed and decided to drop it. Tatsuki finally finished lacing the corset and tied it in a knot around Orihime's waist.

"There," she said succinctly, "How does it fit?" Orihime took as deep of a breath as she could and twisted from side to side to test its fit.

"It's a little tight," she said warily, "But... I can breathe just fine." Tatsuki nodded in satisfaction, an appraising look on her face.

"Good," she said thoughtfully, "It's supposed to be a little tight. You'll get used to it. It's a pain at first, but it helps your posture and your figure." Orihime's eyes softened.

"Thank you, Miss Tatsuki," Orihime murmured. The black-haired girl looked her over appreciatively.

"It's just Tatsuki," she corrected with a smile, "It looks good on you." Orihime blushed and held her cheeks.

"O-Oh no!" Orihime exclaimed, "I'll look so out of place in one of those fancy gowns! Like a fat sheep! It'll be really ridiculous!" Tatsuki rolled her eyes.

"Don't be dumb," she scolded, "Those gigantic breasts of yours are fashionable. The point of the corset is to get them as high as possible. You'll probably make the Count faint when he sees you today." Orihime was absolutely mortified.

"T-Tatsuki!"

"Don't protest," the taller girl said with a small grin, "You've got the looks for it. We just have to work on your manners."

"If... If you say so," Orihime reluctantly agreed. She allowed Tatsuki to continue around her, layering her underdress and petticoats with cotton and linen. She found herself wrapped in cream and pale pink and wine red. It was warm enough that she no longer felt the chill of the weather, although she had the distinct impression that what Tatsuki was dressing her with was just a casual dress. There were much more intimidating things in that wardrobe.

"There," the maid finally said, stepping back to take in her handiwork, "Take a look in the mirror. I think I did a good job." Orihime turned to look into the vanity she'd groomed herself with earlier. It was like looking at a completely different person.

Her face and hair looked the same. The comb she'd placed in her hair earlier complemented the colors of the dress, which also complimented her hair. But the dress itself was like looking into another world. It pushed her bosom up, the creamy flesh spilling gracefully over the scalloped neckline of the dress. The sleeves hugged her upper arms before opening into layers of lace and frills. And the skirt spilled from the waistline in a cascade of ribbons and crinoline, accentuating Orihime's slight hips.

"We'll do your hair next," Tatsuki said, pushing Orihime onto the stool before the vanity, "Then we'll practice some basic etiquette. You should be at least a little ready by dinner time." Orihime suddenly felt a trickle of sweat down her back, between her shoulder blades and beneath the laces of her corset.

"Dinner?" she asked skeptically, "Ready for what?" Tatsuki shrugged as she gathered up a hair brush and took Orihime's hair down from its comb.

"With the Count," she replied, "You'll be having dinner with him tonight."


	3. Chapter Three

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Three  
**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness. Should be read with the lights off.  
**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

**Author's Note:** I hope everyone had a happy winter holiday! And will have a happy New Years, too! The next chapter is almost done and should be out shortly after New Years!

* * *

  
"This is patently ridiculous!"

The maid arched one fine black eyebrow in response.

"What is ridiculous is your coddling of the master's cowardice," came the reply. Tatsuki folded her slender, muscular arms over her chest. "It's bad enough you two decided to drag that poor village girl up here," she continued, following the valet as he paced, "But if he just hides from her, she's going to get suspicious. He at least needs to eat dinner with her."

"Do you understand what you're saying?" Uryuu asked, his words clipped, "It's... It's ridiculous!" Tatsuki was unmoved. She watched as he turned to her from the other side of the drawing room. It was situated in the servants quarters, so there was no chance of their guest overhearing.

"_You're_ ridiculous," Tatsuki jeered, "How do you think this looks to her? No fires burning, hardly any light, and now you want him to avoid dining with her? It's bad enough we obviously don't have a cook here. I know for a fact she cooked her own breakfast." Uryuu stiffened.

"I'll ask Nemu," he said coolly, "If the girl asks, we can say she's the regular cook and that she was ill recently." Tatsuki looked unimpressed.

"This is really inexcusable," she said quietly, "If you were going to keep a human here, you should've planned better." Uryuu shook his head.

"I was against this lunacy from the start," he protested firmly, "But the master is being his usual stubborn self." Tatsuki's stern look didn't waver.

"He's only doing this so he doesn't have to deal with what happened," Tatsuki continued, "You should never have allowed it in the first place. But now that he's started, he needs to grow up and face his problems. Dealing with this girl would be a good start." Uryuu looked as skeptical as ever.

"It's something you can't understand," he explained. When he saw Tatsuki's look darken, Uryuu's eyes narrowed. "Don't give me that look. You know perfectly well why he's acting like this." Tatsuki's hands trembled as they balled into fists. In one quick movement, she had bridged the distance between them and slammed her fist into Uryuu's jaw.

"_I_ don't understand?" she bellowed, "Don't patronize me, Ishida! I'm not some uninvolved bystander here! He can't hide from his shame forever! If he wants to make amends with me, he can start by acting like a man and facing his problems!" Uryuu had barely been moved by the punch; it was Tatsuki's yelling that had the greater effect. It rendered him speechless and slack-jawed. He stood staring at her wide-eyed, his hand covering his jaw where he'd been struck. Tatsuki simply tutted and shook her hand; striking him was like punching a brick wall.

"I... apologize," Uryuu finally said, his look softening, "You are correct. It would be better if he recovered from this... fear of his. But I worry for this girl. If it happens again..." Tatsuki cut him short with a glare.

"It _won't_," she said simply, "I'll make sure of that." Uryuu nodded in understanding.

"I have already promised him as much," Uryuu replied before turning to look at the clock on the mantle. "He'll be up soon. Perhaps we should begin preparing."

"Preparing for what?"

Uryuu turned around slowly. Behind him stood their master, slightly groggy and still in his bed robes. His tousled red hair stuck out at odd angles and his eyes were puffy from sleep. Uryuu hesitated when he saw him; he knew of a surety that Ichigo was not going to like this.

"Dinner," Tatsuki said firmly, crossing her arms, "You'll be eating with Orihime tonight." Ichigo looked genuinely startled.

"Why would I..." he began before fading into silence at Tatsuki's stony look.

"So that she doesn't start wondering why she never sees you," Tatsuki started, eyes narrowing, "And so you can get over your ridiculous fear. Ishida, get him ready. I'll go supervise Nemu." Both men watched as the forthright maid walked out of the drawing room and towards the kitchen.

"Who died and made her lord?" Ichigo grunted. But neither he nor Uryuu protested too loudly.

* * *

Night had fallen all too quickly for Orihime's tastes. Before she knew it, Tatsuki had called her for dinner. To say she was nervous would have been an understatement. She was petrified.  
As she entered the dining hall, she saw for the first time how it looked when it was lit in all its splendor. The fireplace was lit (finally!), the chandelier glowed brilliantly, and a fine, polished service was laid out for her and the Count on the table. The dishes were intricately detailed with pale blue paint that complemented the sparkling crystal of the wine goblets and the shining gold of the utensils.

As Orihime entered, her eyes widened at the change in the room over the course of the day. Just the simple act of bringing light into the room had made such a difference! Her pale pink and red-trimmed skirts danced around her feet as she turned to take it all in.

"Please, be seated."

Orihime startled at the pleasant voice that had come from the kitchen. There stood a tall girl, about her age, with pale skin and heavily lidded eyes. Her black hair was cut straight across her forehead and framed her cheeks in little wisps; in the back, it hung in a thick braid. It complimented the black maid's dress she wore, which swished around her legs as she wheeled a serving cart out of the kitchen.

"Ah-?" Orihime breathed, "I didn't see you there this morning when I came to get breakfast! I hope it wasn't any trouble!" The girl began arranging things from her cart onto the table, her expression unchanging.

"It was no trouble," the girl replied, her voice a steady, melodic monotone, "You may come and go here as it pleases you. I will not always be here to cook for you." Orihime took her seat, not taking her eyes off the odd girl. There was something about her manner of moving and speaking that simply sat the wrong way with Orihime. It almost reminded her of a puppet of some kind.

"Oh, thank you," Orihime said sweetly, masking her misgivings, "I don't think we've met before. I'm Orihime Inoue. It's a pleasure to meet you." Secretly, she was a little glad to have mastered the art of introducing herself in such a short time. Hopefully, she would be able to get past that with the Count's family as well.

"I know who you are," the cook intoned dully, "We have not met yet, though. I am Nemu Kurotsuchi." Orihime's expression fell a bit; aside from the odd impression her speech left, she was disappointed the girl didn't seem to appreciate her introduction.

"I'm honored to meet you, Miss Nemu," Orihime said, holding onto her composure through her growing feelings of anxiety. Nemu's green eyes held a slightly predatory look, but Orihime dismissed it as her overactive imagination.

"Do not waste your manners on me," she softly intoned, "I am nothing but a lowly maid." Orihime looked stricken.

"Don't say that!" she chided, "I'm just as lowly as you! I'm only a peasant!" The black-haired maid looked completely impassive. Orihime fancied she was actually speaking to a doll.

"Kurotsuchi," a firm voice came from the doorway of the dining room, "Please tend to your duties."

The maid bowed her head and hurried back to her serving cart as Orihime turned to see who had just arrived. It felt as though all the air had been knocked out of her chest as she laid eyes on him. The Count had dressed well for the occasion, it seemed. He was clad all in black to compliment his pale complexion and fiery hair. His eyes seemed to glitter as they lighted upon Orihime; there was some vague emotion there that she couldn't quite read. Whatever it was, his stare seemed to have the same mesmerizing effect on her as it had the night before. She could hardly look away as her mouth formed a perfect "o".

"Good evening, Miss Inoue," he said as a small smile replaced his customary scowl, "How have you found your stay so far?" Orihime could feel her cheeks light up as he drew nearer her seat. She wasn't sure she'd even be able to form coherent words with him looking at her like that.

"I-It's been fine," she stammered, "Miss Tatsuki has been helping me with my etiquette, a-and I've been able to find my way around well!" The Count nodded a bit as he made his way behind Orihime's chair, trailing a fine-boned hand over the high wooden back. A shiver raced down her spine at the near-contact.

"I'm glad to hear it," he said, pausing just behind her shoulder, "If you need anything, she can get it for you. She's my family's most capable maid." Orihime smiled up at him, lifting her chin. Tatsuki felt like a good, safe topic. A neutral conversation would keep her mind from running away with itself with silly ideas while he was around.

But as she met his eyes, she saw something else flit across them. He wasn't looking at her face; no, his eyes had drifted lower. They were half-lidded and unfocused, hazy with something that made Orihime's heart race. His look made her feel exposed, the bare skin at her throat and collar feeling more naked than when she'd been undressed completely. When Tatsuki had first dressed her, the low collar of the dress and the flesh spilling over it had felt particularly scandalous, but she had gotten used to it over the course of the day. Now, though, she felt like she might as well have been sitting there naked. And the Count's heated look gave her the impression he agreed.

"Sh-She said she's been with you since she was a little girl," Orihime tried to continue as Nemu reentered the room with a bottle of wine. She poured a glass for each of them before vanishing back to the kitchen. Orihime stared at the glass skeptically, not knowing if she should drink.

"She has," he replied, after seemingly snapping himself out of his daze, "She is as trustworthy as Sado or Uryuu." Then his cinnamon brown eyes lighted on Orihime's glass, noticing the nervous looks she was casting at it. "Have you never drunk before?" Orihime shook her head, cheeks burning.

"I've never had wine," she confessed, suddenly feeling like a little girl, "Rangiku wouldn't let me. And we couldn't afford any, anyway." The Count gave her a devious smirk.

"You're not going to tell on me for giving you some, are you?" he asked, propping his chin up with his hand. Orihime's hands went straight to her lap as she sat up straight in surprise.

"Oh, no, my lord!" she exclaimed sincerely, "I-I wouldn't repay your kindness like that!" He couldn't help but laugh a little at her honest, childlike reaction.

"I didn't think you would," he answered, almost warmly, "Go ahead, take a drink." Orihime gave him one last look, as if asking permission, before delicately picking up her glass and bringing it to her lips. She lowered her eyes, breaking his mesmerizing gaze; if she kept looking at him, she'd be too embarrassed to do anything while he watched.

The wine was bitter, burning a bit as it went down. It made her scrunch her nose in wonder. How did people drink this stuff? Especially with dinner! If anything, it would be good for keeping the late autumn chill at bay. Perhaps it would be better warm? Still, Orihime didn't want to seem rude, so she kept her features schooled and placed the glass back on the table.

"It's an acquired taste," the Count said, a little amusement peeking through his voice, "I'm not a big fan of wine, personally." Orihime nodded dumbly as she refolded her hands in her lap. For as much as Tatsuki had taught her today, she still failed immensely at making conversation. Or maybe it was just the Count who had struck her dumb.

But then Nemu wheeled in her serving cart again, and all thoughts of conversation fled Orihime's mind. Whatever roast meat was on the cart, it made Orihime's mouth water. The rich smell filled the room; Orihime found herself unable to take her eyes off the cart. Even worse, though, was that her stomach reacted the same way. The loud growl was audible all the way across the table. She was suddenly very sorry she hadn't stopped to eat since breakfast.

"Sorry," she apologized sheepishly. The Count, however, seemed to have problems of his own.  
He was also watching the cart, but with a different expression than Orihime had. Unlike the predatory look he'd given her when he'd entered the room, now he looked positively green. Orihime thought that whatever was on that cart seemed to be making him fairly ill.

"Roast chicken, ma'am," Nemu intoned evenly, causing Orihime to cast a fleeting glance back towards the Count. As the maid drew the cover off the bird, the delicious smell nearly overpowered Orihime. The Count was nearly overpowered in another way; he brought his napkin to his nose as something Orihime was sure was anger flashed across his eyes. As her plate was set before her with the delicious meat, she looked at him hesitantly. Was it really alright for her to eat when he couldn't?

"Don't mind me," he said, his scowl firmly back in place, "I have my own cook, and he gets irritated if I don't eat his cooking. You go on ahead." Orihime looked skeptically at him for another moment before her hunger got the better of her and she picked up her knife and fork. She cut into the bird with abandon.

"This is wonderful," she exclaimed after a bite, "Did Miss Nemu make this?" The Count gave her a wry smile.

"I doubt it," he said dryly, "It was probably Tatsuki." It seemed like there was a double-meaning there that Orihime was missing, but she was too famished to care. The chicken was absolutely succulent; it had been roasted with rosemary, paprika, thyme, a whole lemon, a potato, and several cloves of garlic. She couldn't help but think that if she had a dollop of honey for it, it would be just perfect.

Her ecstasy must have shown on her face, because the Count's slight smirk came back, tugging at the corners of his mouth. He picked up his crystal goblet and swirled the wine around a bit before putting it to his lips. Orihime quickly glanced down towards the fine linen tablecloth before he caught her openly staring again.

"So..." he began, glancing off to the side as he lowered his glass, "Tell me a little about yourself, Miss Inoue." Even though his voice was hesitant and a little awkward, Orihime still thought he was perfectly charming.

"U-Umm, well," she said thoughtfully after swallowing, "I live with my older sister Rangiku. She supports us by working at the tavern in town. I-I work, too, just... not as much as she does. She won't let me help her in the tavern, so I mostly tend sheep and feed chickens for the farmers in town." Saying it out loud like that, Orihime felt like a little girl. But when she looked up at the Count, he was smiling as though she had told a joke. She wasn't sure if she should be embarrassed or flattered.

"She sounds like a devoted sister," he noted. Orihime nodded shyly.

"Ever since big brother passed away, she's done her best to take care of me for him," she said softly, "I hate not being able to help her more." She took another bite of the chicken, breaking eye contact and looking down.

"And that's why you agreed to help me so easily," he observed evenly. Orihime looked back up, nodding.

"She didn't want me to," she replied, "But if it means she can stop working and finally get married, I'll gladly do it." Then she paused, wondering how to bring her next topic up without sounding ungrateful.

"Umm, we never discussed, ahh..." she began before losing her nerve and trailing off. The Count's eyebrows rose for a moment before he figured out what she was getting at.

"Your payment?" he asked, causing her to nod shyly, "If you like, I can have Ishida bring her the first installment tomorrow. It'll help offset your absence." Orihime smiled in relief.

"Thank you," she breathed, some of her apprehension evaporating, "I was... really worried about her. I hope she'll be able to get along without me." She gave the Count a broad, open smile then, which was met with a halting, awkward one. He looked a bit wistful, as though she had reminded him of a pleasant memory. Orihime blushed lightly and brought her glass back to her lips, only to find it empty.

"Ah?" she asked in surprise, "It's empty!" She had drunk all of it during their conversation without even noticing. After the initial shock of the taste, she had found the flavor complimentary to the chicken and had been using it to wash it down. Now, after having had a few minutes to get used to it, she felt her body alight with pleasant warmth and a mild numbness.

"You sure finished that fast," the Count said with a mischievous smile, "Are you sure this is your first time drinking?" Orihime's mouth hung open in surprise for a moment, but she found herself momentarily unable to form words coherently. As she sat there dumbfounded, the Count's countenance slowly changed from one of mischief to one of concern.

"Miss Inoue?" he asked, rising from his chair and making his way over to her. She looked up, her vision blurring as she watched him walk to the side of her chair and kneel beside her. When he did, though, his look shifted. It moved from genuine concern to something else. She could swear he was once again giving her the same predatory look as when he'd first entered the room, eyes half-lidded, glazed with some indescribable emotion.

As her eyes drifted shut, the last thing Orihime's befuddled brain made out were the sharp, glistening white canine teeth behind the Count's lips.

* * *

  
If Ichigo had been closer to being in his right mind, he would've questioned this turn of events.

As it was, he simply took the unconscious girl beside him to be a lightweight. The single glass of wine she'd had clearly had knocked her out. And the great deal of concern he'd had for her well-being had flown away at the sight of her head lolling back, baring her slender throat for him. Her eyes had fluttered half-way shut into a seductive sort of hazy gaze, almost distracting him from the part he found most enticing.

In fact, he found this whole scene suddenly very erotic. The light pink blush upon her cheeks; her pulse beating gently beneath her creamy skin; her slightly parted, flushed lips; and those glorious breasts of hers, the tops peeking roguishly above her collar, pressed together firmly. And her scent! Even behind that noxious garlic Tatsuki had cooked - and Ichigo had no doubt she'd done it to discourage him from just such an impulse - he could still smell her clean, lovely scent. It was too much for him.

He could feel it then. His other side, the one he only showed to his prey, was coming out. He would certainly regret this later, but at the moment, that hot, impatient impulse was driving him. There was no thought of his larger plans or of any promises he'd made to himself; the only thought currently in Ichigo's mind was of the gratification he was about to get from this girl's throat.

As he leaned in, he schooled his impatience, taking a moment to inhale the scent of her skin. By now, his lips were grazing her hot neck, the strong pulse of her jugular just one thin layer away from him. The coolness of his kiss must have registered with Orihime, because she stirred a bit beneath him, moaning as she stretched her neck for him. Ichigo growled deep in his throat in response, clutching the armrest of her chair almost hard enough to break it. He drew the flesh of her throat into his mouth, sucking it gently before letting the sharp tips of his canines graze it.

As suddenly as those impulses came, they vanished. Ichigo felt as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped down his back. His vision cleared as his eyes shot open. Looking down, he saw why; a string of garlic had been dropped onto his shoulders. He thought for sure the smell alone would suffocate him.

"A-AHHH!" He pulled the offending herb away from his neck and flung the loose string across the room. No matter how disgusting he found it, or how badly it burned him, it always brought him back to his senses.

"Thought so," he heard Tatsuki growl from behind, "I thought it was a little too quiet in here." He turned to see her glaring down at him, hands on her hips. Nemu stood behind her in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Sorry, I just... I..." But how could he explain it? Now that he was coming down from his euphoria, he knew he'd done wrong. It had almost escaped his control, again.

"It's not your fault," Tatsuki said, her countenance relaxing a little, "Not entirely. Nemu apparently thought she would help you out by drugging Orihime's wine." Ichigo looked at Nemu wide-eyed.

"Kurotsuchi?"

"My apologies, master," she said quietly, "I thought she was to be the meal." Ichigo ran a frustrated hand over his face. This was what he got for not letting all the staff in on his plans.

"Then why on earth would you think Tatsuki was feeding her garlic, of all things?" He gave a small, rueful laugh, although to be honest, he felt like expelling his last meal there on the dining room rug. Nemu simply shrugged. He should have known complex thoughts like that were beyond her now.

Ichigo rose from his spot beside Orihime's chair, groaning as he did so. That noxious weed really could work a number on him.

"Tatsuki," he grumbled, "Get rid of that... garlic. I'll put Miss Inoue to bed." As Ichigo bent down to pick her up, though, he noticed the look of disbelief Tatsuki was giving him.

"Nemu, give me the garlic," she commanded, never taking her eyes off Ichigo. The long-haired girl nodded and moved to do as she was told. Ichigo's eyebrows knitted together as Tatsuki continued to stare at him. Nemu offered her the strand of cloves, which Tatsuki gladly closed her hand around.

"What?" he finally asked, scooping the sleeping girl out of her dining chair. Tatsuki arched an eyebrow.

"Do you seriously expect me to just let you take her to her bedroom after what just happened?" Tatsuki asked incredulously, "No offense, Ichigo, but I'm not that stupid or careless."

Ichigo could feel color coming into his cheeks at her admonition. He hadn't been thinking of another such encounter with the auburn-haired girl in his arms, but Tatsuki was right. It wasn't safe for him to be alone with her right now, no matter how much his predatory side yearned for it.

"I didn't think you could carry her," Ichigo admitted sheepishly. Tatsuki's expression softened a bit.

"I might not be able to," she admitted, "Alright. Let's go together."

Ichigo nodded, curling his fingers into Orihime's dress as he tried to ignore her enticing smell.


	4. Chapter Four

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Four

**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness. Should be read with the lights off.  
**  
Disclaimer:** These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

**Author's Note:** I'm not sure exactly what my schedule is going to look like from now on. I just transferred shifts at work, and day shift is kind of stressful for me. I don't know if I'll be able to keep up this update schedule for much longer, but I'm definitely going to do my best! Wish me luck!

* * *

Hot hands slid up her naked sides, holding her tight. Orihime gasped at the feeling as they brushed over her full bosom, then back down her sides to her hips. The hands were curious, fascinated, and so were the ruddy brown eyes belonging to their owner.

She watched in utter fascination as the redheaded man above her continued to explore her body through touch. She was completely open to him, naked and vulnerable. He could do anything to her and there wasn't a single thing she could do but to lay there and enjoy it.

As this realization dawned on her, hazy and gray, she couldn't bring herself to care much. What he was doing felt too good and made her relaxed. And soon his mouth joined his hands, kissing and sucking the flesh along her collarbone. This drew a little gasp from Orihime; she had never even thought about being kissed by a man before, but now how could she think of anything else?

As the world melted around her, everything seemed to fade into darkness. Even the Count's licentious touches fell away, replaced by numbness and the feeling of floating. As Orihime vaguely wondered why that was, she began to feel very heavy. Her body felt as though it was filled with lead, sinking and pulling her down.

She was no longer floating now, instead having sunk down as far as she could. Wherever she lay was incredibly soft; she wondered if she perhaps was laying on a cloud. While she was too heavy to roll over now, she found she didn't really need to; she was already plenty comfortable as it was.

A little while after gaining this awareness, Orihime realized she should probably attempt to open her eyes. She wasn't sure when she'd even closed them or how long she'd been laying there with them closed. But now that she was somewhat awake, she might as well try to open her eyes.

She cracked one eye open, the dull gray light coming through her thick curtains and spreading gently across her face. It wasn't harsh enough to hurt her head, but it didn't feel like her head needed much help in that department anyway. It was pounding and fuzzy in a way she'd never experienced before. It felt like her head was filled with sheep's wool. Or possibly head gnomes mining for gold between her ears.

"Haaah," she sighed as she sat up. As Orihime brought a hand to her head, she heard someone else in the room stir.

"You're finally awake," Tatsuki said, drawing Orihime's attention. The redhead turned to see her new friend sitting by the fireplace, stoking the fire. She scrunched her eyebrows together in thought.

"How late is it?" she asked hoarsely. Her own voice surprised her; it was rough from disuse, her throat dry from sleep and the wood fire in the grate.

"Almost noon," Tatsuki tutted at her, "You had a little too much wine last night and passed out. I had to drag you out of the dining room and undress you."

Two things dawned on Orihime then. First and foremost, she had made a fool of herself in front of the Count. That was the worse thing. Secondly, her rather vivid dream about being touched probably came from Tatsuki undressing her. Orihime held her cheeks as they flushed, embarrassment flooding her face. What wicked thoughts this place instilled in her!

"A-Ah," she breathed, glancing shyly at Tatsuki, "I-I don't think I should have wine again..." Tatsuki smiled a little at her, her countenance kind.

"No, I don't think so," the black-haired girl agreed, "Well, let's get going. We still have a lot to do before Ichigo's father gets here." Orihime drew the quilt up to her chin.

"I embarrassed myself in front of him," she said quietly, "Rangiku would be so ashamed." Tatsuki's eyebrows rose.

"He doesn't hold it against you," Tatsuki said, moving to pat her head, "If anything, he's embarrassed because he talked you into it." Orihime lowered her blanket, giving Tatsuki a cautiously optimistic look.

"Do you... really think so?" she asked shyly, "I wouldn't blame him if he didn't speak to me again..." Tatsuki just rolled her eyes.

"The Count isn't like that," she said simply, "He's not going to eat with you tonight, though, so you'll have a day or two to practice before trying to dine with him again." Although this simple statement set Orihime's heart at ease, it also brought up another fine point; she didn't know what the Count really _was_ like. She had only seen him twice now, and her logical mind told her that this was nowhere near enough for her to feel so infatuated with him. It also made her wonder if he was disgusted with her, since he wasn't going to eat with her tonight.

"O-Oh, I see," she said quietly, her countenance growing serious and somewhat melancholic, "I'll have to make a better impression next time." Tatsuki snorted.

"It's not you," she said, tugging at Orihime's comforter, "He has business to attend to today and won't be back in time." Orihime stole a nervous glance at Tatsuki as she allowed her to take her covers.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, tentatively relieved, "I see! Well, in that case, let's try extra hard today so we can surprise him when he gets back!" Tatsuki gave her a lopsided grin as the redheaded girl stood with renewed vigor... before growing dizzy and clutching her head with her hand.

"That's the spirit," Tatsuki said, steadying Orihime before she toppled herself over, "But first, I should probably get you some hangover medicine."

* * *

Tatsuki hadn't completely lied; Ichigo did have business to attend to. It just wasn't during the day. As he prepared to leave for the evening, somewhere around dinner time, he found the head maid hovering outside the spacious dining hall.

"Getting ready to go out?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at him. He was dressed the same as ever, in his waistcoat and fancy trousers. "Your clothes will be ruined."

"Well, I can't very well go naked," he said, only half-joking, before continuing, "Chad and Ishida are going with me." 'Chad' was the name that only Ichigo used for his coachman. No one ever bothered to correct him, and Sado himself didn't seem to care, so Tatsuki let it lie.

"It'll just be you and Kurotsuchi with Miss Inoue," Ichigo continued, a hint of trepidation in his voice, "Please keep her safe." Tatsuki waved him off as he pulled a pair of fine gloves on.  
"It's no problem," she said nonchalently, "I can handle Nemu, and Orihime's no trouble at all." As she spoke, she stole a glance at Ichigo. He was thoughtfully watching the redhead in the dining room, who was currently practicing her polite dinner conversation with her silverware. The corners of Ichigo's mouth tugged up against his will, ever-so-slightly.

"She really wants your approval, you know," Tatsuki said quietly, seeing where he was looking. At her words, he looked back over at Tatsuki.

"She only needs to get Father's," he said evenly. Tatsuki folded her arms over her chest. Ichigo could be really dense sometimes, especially when it came to girls. Then again, she couldn't really blame him.

"That's part of getting yours, isn't it?" she asked, eyebrows raised. Ichigo looked somewhat confused.

"I don't care what that old buzzard wants, as long as he ceases his nagging," Ichigo sighed, ruffling his already unruly hair. Tatsuki just shook her head. He was just as thick as always.

"When will you be back?" she finally asked with an exasperated sigh.

"Well before dawn," he said quietly, content they wouldn't be overheard by the girl currently eating at the table, "This won't take long. You should have Miss Inoue abed by then. We don't want to have to enter through the servants' entrance." Tatsuki nodded her understanding.

"Yes, sir," Tatsuki said simply.

* * *

Rangiku had just settled in when a loud knock on the heavy front door made her jump.

She shuffled off her heavy blankets and moved toward the door. While she was feeling stronger today, she hadn't ventured out since Orihime had left. She missed her sister terribly and simply didn't feel like leaving the house yet. Even so, the owner of the tavern she worked for had stopped by to check on her earlier, as well as Mr. Hisagi, her sometime lover. She had assured them both that she just had a small cold and that she'd be fine soon.

So when this knock came, she naturally assumed it would be one of those two again. Granted, she doubted they'd be about after dark, but it made the most sense. As she drug the heavy door open, however, she saw that she was mistaken once again.

On the other side of the door stood a tall redhead with fiery cinnamon brown eyes. He was just as pale and just as finely dressed as that Mr. Ishida from the other night, so the two automatically connected in Rangiku's mind. Perhaps it was a friend of his? Either way, Rangiku was aware that she was staring, her mouth slightly agape.

The redhead on the other side of her threshold gave Rangiku a slightly superior look while she sized him up. Well, that didn't exactly sit well with her, but she decided to table her concerns for the moment.

"May I come in?" he finally asked, his voice belying his impatience, "We're in a bit of a hurry, Miss Matsumoto." Rangiku's eyebrows shot up as she stood aside to let him enter.

"Have we met before?" she asked incredulously. She knew she might not be worth as much as a pretty noble in fancy clothes, but she'd be damned if she'd let one talk down to her.

"No, we haven't," he said plainly, "May I come in?" She quirked an eyebrow at him; she'd moved aside, hadn't she?

"_Yes_," she said with a bit of a sarcastic edge, "You may come in." As the redhead entered, brushing the snow off the shoulders of his fine jacket, Rangiku eyed him suspiciously. She didn't know what to make of this man; he came off as horribly arrogant, yet waited for permission to enter a peasant's home? _'At least he's good-looking,'_ she mused. When he finished brushing the snow away, he turned to the heavy door and easily shut it. Then, he began properly making his way into the room.

"So this is where she lives," the man said to himself as he looked around, ignoring Rangiku entirely, "How does she get by with only one room?" Rangiku had had just about enough of this.

"Yes, I'm sure it doesn't meet _your_ standards," she quipped, "So why don't you tell me what you want so you can be on your way?" The man turned to look at the busty blonde as though he'd forgotten she was there entirely.

"Right," he said succinctly, pulling a small bag of coins from his jacket pocket, "This is for you, to compensate for your sister's absence while she resides with me." Rangiku blinked at the man for a second before reaching to take the bag.

"You mean with the Count, correct?" she asked skeptically. The redhead raised one pale eyebrow at her question.

"No," he replied smoothly, "She's residing with me. I _am_ the Count." Rangiku almost dropped the bag.

"_You're_ the Count?" she sputtered incredulously, pointing with her free hand. He continued giving her the same unimpressed look.

"Is that so strange?" he asked impassively. Rangiku continued to look flabbergasted.

"But... But you're supposed to be old!" she protested, "And ancient! And decrepit! And your hair's supposed to be black!" The Count visibly winced.

"That's my father," he corrected, "And he's not that old. And he's elsewhere right now. He's a Marquis." Rangiku took this all in, her shocked expression turning to curiosity.

"And what's this for?" she asked, holding up the coin purse, "If you want to buy Orihime from me, she isn't for sale. And certainly not as the love slave of a perverted nobleman!" For once, the Count seemed to be at a loss, the same sickly color flooding his face as Ishida's.

"It's for the loss of her wages!" he sputtered, "For your household! I'm not trying to buy her! Especially not as a l-l-love slave!" Rangiku smirked as she watched the young nobleman before her act the same as any commoner when confronted with a member of the opposite sex.

"You can't fool me," she said, poking his chest, "Boys your age all think about the same thing - taking pretty girls into the hay loft for a little tumble!" The Count was completely flustered now.

"I-I don't think about those things!" he protested, causing Rangiku to look at him in disbelief and put her hands on her hips.

"Oh, so you prefer men?" she asked, cocking her head to the side.

"O-Of course not!" the Count flailed, "I'm just not a pervert!" Rangiku still looked unimpressed.

"Oh, don't give me that," she said flatly, "I know very well that it's impossible for a man to be around my little sister all day without having any dirty thoughts. Unless..." The Count seemed to be waiting trepidatiously for whatever it was Rangiku had to say. "Unless you're a eunuch!"

"I am not a eunuch!" he screeched, causing Rangiku to erupt into laughter. She briefly wondered if he'd start stamping his feet like a little child. Regardless of the awful first impression, this young Count was terrible fun to tease.

"Well, in that case," she said with a wink, "If you do happen to take advantage of her, you had best take responsibility. I expect nothing less!" The Count's cheeks were as red as little apples now; Rangiku liked this much better than the sickly, half-hearted blush he'd been sporting at first.

"Take advantage-" he parroted, eyes wide, "Responsibility... O-Oi! That's not going to happen!" Rangiku simply waggled her eyebrows at him suggestively.

"If you say so," she said devilishly, "It's just something to keep in mind." The Count threw his hands up in aggravation.

"You're as frustrating as my father!" he exclaimed, "How did a girl like Miss Inoue come from the same house as you?" Rangiku just smirked.

"Well, one of us had to be the worldly one," she said with a shrug, "I figure it's better if it's me. Orihime is kind and innocent and naive. She'll make some lucky man a good wife one day, but until then, I have to be the one to look after her." She thought the Count might explode. Beneath his stoic exterior, he really was still just a child. He might even be as sheltered as Orihime.

"Well, it... It won't be me," he spoke to the floor, "She's just a... peasant. It's not allowed." Rangiku stared sternly at him, hands on hips, as he glanced back in her direction. She really didn't like the way he said "peasant" like it was a dirty word. It even sounded like he might've said something else instead, but had thought better of it. Rangiku could only imagine what derogatory terms he'd considered instead.

"Then I suppose you'd best not go breaking her heart, sir," she said firmly, "If I find you have, you'll have to deal with me." The Count was given pause for a second before he looked away again. An awkward silence followed.

"We must be on our way," he finally said, eager to end the impasse and change the subject, "I'll be back next week with more, madam." Rangiku opened her mouth indignantly as he let himself out.

"It's _miss!_" she exclaimed angrily.

* * *

The night had fallen heavily over Kurosaki castle, like the thick blanket of snow that lay over the rafters. The fire in Orihime's room burnt low in the grate; she'd gone to bed hours before. Even now, she slept deeply under her covers, as still as the dead.

While she slept, the heavy doors to her room opened quietly. It was only a crack, but it was still big enough for a pair of emerald eyes to look at the sleeping woman through. After several seconds, the door began to swing inward very slowly, so as not to make the hinges creak. Before the black-haired girl on the other side could take a single step into the room, however, a firm hand gripped her shoulder.

"And just where do you think you're going?"

Nemu turned to see Tatsuki standing behind her, her expression still but deadly. Nemu's own expression didn't change at all.

"I'm hungry," Nemu stated dully. Tatsuki seemed unimpressed.

"Ishida's gone hunting for you," she replied sternly, "So you can leave Orihime alone and get out of her room." Nemu stood staring at her as though she was speaking another language.

"You are not my master," she stated plainly. There was no malice in her words; just a simple statement of fact. Tatsuki was singularly unmoved.

"No, but if you hurt her, the master will be furious," she said plainly, "And Ishida's pity will do nothing to save you then."

"I do not understand," she dully intoned, "Humans are food for us." Tatsuki folded her arms.

"Not for me, they aren't," she noted, "And not that one. They're bringing you back your own meal, so just go back to your quarters. Or would you rather I made you myself?"

There was little reaction as Nemu took in Tatsuki's words. Even though there was no overt sign, Tatsuki could tell she'd understood her meaning. Silently, the girl with the long black braid nodded and turned toward the passageway leading to her room.

Tatsuki let out a sigh of relief as she ruffled her hair. She was glad she hadn't needed to fight Nemu, but it was a close call. Between this and the wine incident, she just knew she was going to have some very strong words with Ichigo and Uryuu about Nemu's behavior.


	5. Chapter Five

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Five

**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness. Should be read with the lights off.  
**  
Disclaimer:** These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

**Author's Note:** Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! I'm glad there are so many people enjoying this fic! I'm definitely going to try to keep up my current pace, while also starting on a fan comic! If you want to see what I've drawn so far, my DA name is sailorN1! Anyway, please enjoy this chapter! I certainly enjoyed writing it!

* * *

Orihime woke early the next morning to find the large estate still, a blanket of freshly-fallen snow covering the sleepy world outside. If she were at home, she might go outside and play in it, or scoop some up for drinking or cooking. She wondered if she could go out into the courtyard for that. Did nobility play outside when it snowed?

As she watched the white world outside, the thought of the graceful Count playing in the freezing snow, rosy cheeks as red as apples, came to her mind. For some reason, she thought it suited him somewhat; his black clothing made her think of night, and that made her think of the snow that was on the ground now. Well, that and the fact that he kept his whole house like ice.

Thinking of houses brought Rangiku back to her mind. Was she alright this morning? Was her fire warm enough without Orihime there to chop the firewood? Was she over her cold? Perhaps her blacksmith lover had brought her some firewood? Orihime vaguely wondered if Rangiku had taken advantage of her absence to have him over.

Now it was Orihime's turn to have cheeks as red as apples. The stray thought brought scandalous images to her mind of what her sister could be doing while she was away. The bodies of a pair of shadowy lovers intertwined before a flickering fireplace in the theater of her mind, sighing and moaning passionate oaths to one another. And after the first thought or two, the shadows melted away to reveal the man's short, spiky red hair, the well-endowed woman's long, auburn waves, the way his hands roamed over even her most personal places...

Orihime squeaked and slapped her hands over her eyes, as though she were actually watching the show instead of daydreaming it. A tiny whimper escaped her; these sinful thoughts had plagued her ever since she'd met the Count, and it was starting to weigh on her conscience. She dared uncover her eyes, concentrating on the pure white snow outside instead. As soon as her hands were free, she crossed herself; surely these scandalous thoughts were the work of some demon or mischievous fairy!

Orihime spent the rest of the morning keeping herself busy with various odd tasks. Idle hands were the devil's playthings after all, and keeping herself occupied was the easiest way to avoid having to think about the strange feelings she'd been having. She tidied her room, dusting along forgotten shelves and rafters, chasing cobweb spiders out of their nooks and crannies, and cleaning the dust bunnies out from underneath her bed. Once that was done, she went downstairs to the empty kitchen and fixed her morning porridge. She even lit a small fire in the fireplace; a woodpile had been laid by the dining room's hearth just for her.

After breakfast, she cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom, scrubbing the floors and washing the baseboards. She had put on her familiar peasant's dress to do this, not daring to get one of the Count's fine dresses dirty with her busy work. By the time noon rolled around, she was wet and sloppy, having cleaned everything in the kitchen and dining room she could reach. But the housework did the trick; instead of fretting about her newly-awakened lecherous imagination, she was playing games with the duster and chasing bubbles across the floor. Her face practically glowed with mirth through her sweat.

By the time she was almost ready to stop for lunch, Orihime heard the first signs of activity for the day. She instantly recognized Tatsuki's light, firm footfalls and turned to greet her. One hand still held a wet rag she was using to wash the china cabinet while the other mopped damp hair away from her forehead.

"Good morning, Tatsuki!" she happily chirped, turning to see the black-haired girl standing behind her. Orihime's smile faded into a look of confusion as she noticed the horrified stare Tatsuki had turned on her.

"Oh my God, what are you _doing_?"

Orihime continued to watch Tatsuki in puzzlement as she walked over and took the washrag from Orihime with shaking hands. As she pried the wet rag from Orihime's fingers, Orihime fancied she just might explode.

"What's the matter?" she finally asked gently. The other woman shook her head furiously.

"Why on earth would you do housework?" she demanded, "_Especially_ in this weather! You're going to ruin your hands!" Orihime cocked her head to the side, not quite comprehending what the fuss was about.

"I can just put some oil on them," she said innocently, "This is what I always do." Tatsuki gave her a frustrated sigh.

"Noblewomen don't do chores, Orihime," she chided, "And they don't have chapped hands, and they don't roll around in soap suds!" Orihime suddenly realized her mistake and folded her hands before her skirt, looking down at them in embarrassment.

"O-Oh," she stammered, "I'm sorry, Tatsuki. I was just trying to keep myself busy..." Tatsuki sighed and took Orihime's hand, leading her back out of the dining room and towards her own quarters.

"Just don't do it again," she sighed, "Nemu and I can take care of that sort of thing. You don't need to worry about it." Orihime frowned. Were they really the only two housekeepers in this castle? No wonder it was so dusty!

"A-Alright," she said haltingly, "Umm... I did have a question for you, though." Tatsuki stopped and turned to look at her, her angry expression now curious instead.

"What did you need?" she asked, not at all unkindly. Orihime felt a tingle of relief upon realizing that Tatsuki was no longer angry with her. As soon as that passed, however, it was replaced with embarrassment at what she was about to ask.

"Do... Do you know where the chapel is in this castle?" she asked timidly, "I would like to... t-to go to confession." Tatsuki gave her a blank look for a few moments, blinking slowly. She glanced furtively off to the side before a low hum escaped her pursed lips.

"Yes, there is a chapel," Tatsuki said slowly, "I can take you to it after we get you dressed." Orihime nodded her shy understanding before another thing occurred to her.

"When we're done with lessons for the day," she began, a smile covering her face, "Can we go play in the snow?"

* * *

Last night had been particularly unkind to Ichigo.

First, there was the matter of Orihime's sister. The older girl had rankled him when he really shouldn't have been rankled at all. She'd somehow touched a nerve; something between her countenance, her confidence, and her keen tongue had gotten underneath Ichigo's skin. The things she had insinuated had made him blush; worse yet, on some level they had put ideas into his head.

Not that his head needed much help coming up with ideas on its own. That was the worst part; the things Rangiku had said had already occurred to him on some level, even if he didn't want to think about it. Orihime was making him think and feel things that he knew very well he shouldn't. Every time he was around her, it strained his resolve. The girl was walking temptation and she didn't even know it.

That was another thought that had stuck with him, as well. Ichigo could hardly help his attraction to her, but what about the other men Rangiku had mentioned that were besotted with her? Ichigo knew without having to be told that those men had little interest in her but the carnal. It shouldn't have bothered him; humans were generally base and lustful like that. It was only natural that those men should be charmed by her. It was only natural that they should want her in their beds.

But it _did_ bother him. It bothered Ichigo a _lot_, actually. It disgusted him that other men would look at Orihime like that. It sparked the same protective instinct he had for his sisters, and the same disdain he would've had for anyone who would look at them lustfully. But this instinct felt slightly different. If he was perfectly honest with himself, it didn't anger him because he felt that no one should ever think about her that way, as with his sisters; it angered him precisely because he _did_ think about her that way already.

As loathe as Ichigo was to admit it, the night Nemu had drugged Orihime, something had changed within him. For the first time in his life, Ichigo had wanted a woman on more than a physical or physiological level. He hadn't just wanted her blood, or to sleep with her; he'd wanted to _keep_ her. And that scared him.

He knew it was wrong. She wasn't born into this life like he or his sisters were; she was too gentle, too pious for the kinds of things they did. That was part of the reason she so fascinated him. If he were to truly bring her to his side, she might lose that sweetness and innocence that had attracted him in the first place. He didn't want to see a callous and violent Orihime; she was perfect the way she was. And that was provided she would even stay after finding out the truth about him and his servants; she might simply fear for her mortal soul and flee.

And Ichigo refused to pursue her if he couldn't make her truly his. If they stayed together in half-measure, her fate would be even unhappier. Once he'd finally taken her, she would forever be unable to become like him, autonomous and rational. Should he try to turn her after taking her virginity, she would simply become a ghoul, ravenous and devoid of real free will.

And should he pursue her without any intention of turning her, she would simply grow old and die as a regular human. But any children conceived would be halfbreeds, cursed and ostracized among both humans and his own kind. They would also be completely unable to inherit his title or holdings. He would be dooming them before they were even born.

With these gloomy ponderings in mind, Ichigo had embarked on the night's hunt. He had expected it to go easily; he only hunted in his family's holdings if they had a problem with overpopulation. Since this wasn't the case at the moment, he had ventured outward to the poorer outlying mountainsides and valleys.

Unfortunately, the humans there had cottoned on to his hunting patterns. When they came last night and disembarked from the carriage, one of the peasants had taken precautions. He had somehow armed himself with a fine silver dagger before leaving his home to tend his sheep for the night. Instead of being easy prey, the shepherd fought back and managed to escape.

So not only had Ichigo had to rely on his manservant to do all his hunting for him, but the prey itself had been pretty poor quality. Ichigo was no stranger to poor blood; he frequently fed on the ill and destitute, as they often had few resources and were usually abandoned by all else. But last night's meal had been particularly foul; an ill old vagabond who had had too much rotgut and too little anything else. Ichigo still had that bitter taste in his mouth.

Worse yet, that old blood had done little to heal his wounds. Wounds made from silver never healed easily, and this was no exception. But the poor quality of last night's meal guaranteed he wouldn't heal before Orihime saw him for the day - or any time soon, really, since it refused to clot properly at all. And even though he could always make up an elaborate story about being robbed, he'd just rather not go to the trouble at the moment. Plus, it hurt like hell.

This is how he came to be in the chapel this morning; his original burial place was in the family crypt there. And although he usually slept in his chambers in the castle's west wing, the soil from the tomb acted as a healing salve. He knew from experience that it was practically the only thing that would stop the bleeding from his wound before it completely drained him.

His sleep was as poor as last night's meal, however. He was unused to sleeping in the musty old tomb, as strange as that should've been. Even creatures like him could grow accustomed to comfort. As such, he slept fitfully and awoke as soon as he was fit to walk. He had just risen and was fully intent on making his way back to his chambers when he heard them. Two familiar voices floated from the front part of the chapel back to the hidden tombs as Ichigo made his way out. When he heard them, he immediately stopped and stayed hidden from the sight of the main chapel behind a thin wall.

"Is there a priest here?" he heard the softer voice ask sweetly. Ichigo's eyes widened as he recognized Orihime's voice. What the devil was she doing in the chapel?

"I doubt it," Tatsuki answered, "I wouldn't know, anyway. I try to stay away from this place as much as I can. It gives me the creeps." Orihime made a little noise that sounded somewhat offended. Ichigo imagined that her face had taken on a worried pout from the sound she'd made.

"Tatsuki!" she scolded, "You shouldn't be that way! If you don't come to church, you... you'll be condemned to eternal damnation!" Ichigo's eyes grew dark.

Her voice was so earnest and concerned, but Ichigo knew her pleas were going to fall on deaf ears at best, scornful ones at worst. He and Tatsuki had been raised without religion; while it was a solid fact for the rest of the world, his family lived outside of it. They simply could not reconcile their existence with it. After all, what kind of God would create creatures such as he, who could neither live nor die naturally and must prey on others for their very lives?

Because of this, Ichigo did have an aversion to the church and its accouterments. Those instruments of human religion could never harm him; they merely annoyed him whenever some superstitious peasant would hold forth their rosary as though it would save them from him. He was a vampire, not a demon, for goodness sake!

Would Orihime do that if he revealed himself to her? The thought darkened his countenance. He didn't want to think about her being afraid of him, as though his mere presence would send her screaming into the maw of Hell itself. He didn't want to think about her running from him or brandishing a rosary or a flask of holy water at him. Mostly, he just found himself not wanting her to think badly of him. The realization made him grit his teeth.

"Orihime, don't preach at me," he finally heard Tatsuki say, "Just go do your business so we can go. I don't want to be here any longer than we have to." Ichigo knew very well why that was: Tatsuki knew he was sleeping here. She must have thought he'd still be asleep for her to bring Orihime in here.

He heard Orihime huff a bit (and he imagined she must have crossed herself just then, too) before continuing on her way. He found himself entranced, tracking her footsteps as she padded softly through the chapel, and before he knew what was happening, they stopped just on the other side of the thin wooden wall from him. He heard a rustle of cloth as a curtain was pulled around and his eyebrows shot up as he realized where he standing; Ichigo had managed to wander into the opposite side of the confessional from Orihime.

He knew he should leave. He should just go back to his tomb until she was done, then go back up to his rooms. This was really none of his business and he had no right to eavesdrop on her private confession. But as she began to speak, he was compelled to stay.

"Forgive me, father," she began quietly, "For I have sinned. It has been ten days since my last confession." Ichigo swallowed, his throat suddenly gone dry. What sin could this sweet girl possibly have to confess? The prospect that she might have done something sinful tantalized him, his eyes wide and his imagination spinning around itself.

"Go... Go on," he croaked, dropping his voice several octaves and hoping she didn't recognize him. He couldn't help it, though; he wanted to hear this.

"I've been having such terrible thoughts," she whispered, voice trembling, "I-I keep thinking about the Count and... and about him touching me in places..." Ichigo could see her shadow from the other side of the wall covering its face. He knew it was wrong to be listening to this, but the idea that she thought about him privately was almost too much to bear. Perhaps he was secretly tormenting her just as much as she was him?

"I-In places a man should only touch a woman when they're married," she continued breathlessly, "I feel like such a pervert!"

_'Well,'_ Ichigo thought heatedly, _'That makes two of us.' _

"Tell me about these thoughts," he finally said, barely above a whisper, "Do you enjoy them?"

"He... He kisses me," she whispered, "On the mouth and neck and... and my breasts... And his hands go all over. They're so warm..."

Ichigo knew that last part wasn't the case at all, but he wasn't about to correct her. In fact, he wasn't about to do much of anything. He cursed silently as he realized he wouldn't be able to stand up anytime soon, either. At least he was wearing his bedrobe and nothing constricting.

"It... It's confusing," she continued, "It makes me feel r-really good, b-but at the same time, I know it's wrong..."

Ichigo could definitely relate to that. He hated this feeling as much as it thrilled him. His more base side wanted to encourage her to act on her fantasies. But his rational mind knew he needed to reign himself in. If his resolve broke, they would both be miserable, and he didn't want that for her. He ground his teeth against it, straining to keep control of himself.  
Yet still, he wanted to hear more.

"I... I had a drink of wine for the first time the other night," she continued in a whisper, "And I passed out in front of him. It was so embarrassing! And when I woke up, I thought he'd undressed me a-and touched me all over, but... but it was just Tatsuki."

Ichigo realized he was breathing heavily. He really would have taken advantage of her, had Tatsuki not intervened. And then things would have really gotten out of hand; everything would've all been over. Even now, he could feel that inky black ichor creeping into the corners of his vision. He had gone too far. He needed to get her out of here before he did something stupid.

"Say five Hail Marys," he whispered hoarsely, "And go, please." He heard Orihime shift in her seat as she found her rosary, her breathing drowning out all other noise as she began quietly reciting her prayers.

Ichigo listened, transfixed. His fingers curled into his bedrobe as she prayed; he knew he should take the opportunity to leave, but something was keeping him still and fastening him to his seat. It was the sound of her voice; he'd never heard anything as sweet and hypnotic as it before. He listened enraptured as she quietly said her penance, until she finally finished with a cute little sigh.

"Thank you, Father," she said softly, rising with a rustle of her full skirts. Ichigo barely registered that he grunted in response, instead listening intently as she pulled the curtain open and stepped out. He heard her light footsteps trail toward the entrance of the chapel, back to where Tatsuki awaited her. She sounded light and airy, as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Ichigo, on the other hand, felt as though his chest was being compressed as she walked away. It dawned on him keenly then that he was indeed still hungry.

"All done?" Tatsuki asked warmly. He heard Orihime make a pleased little noise and imagined she nodded as well.

"Yes," she said, her voice as sweet as honey, "Thank you, Tatsuki." He stared blankly ahead as he heard Tatsuki grunt in response.

"You're welcome," the black haired girl replied, "Now come on. We've got a lot to work on today."

The two girls pulled the chapel doors shut and Ichigo found he could breathe again finally. As he slumped forward, the evidence of Orihime's effect on him became inherently apparent again. He growled to himself; when was the last time he'd been compelled to deal with something like _that_? It had been years, at least. Damn it all, he wasn't a hyperactive teenager anymore!

Worse yet, he knew he wouldn't be able to resist if he was left alone with her. It wasn't just her blood; he knew that for certain. The beast he tried to keep suppressed stirred whenever she was around. That strange trait that had manifested itself first last year, when he'd reached maturity, flared dramatically whenever he thought about her now. It clawed and screamed to be let loose, begged to have its way with her. And Ichigo wasn't sure how much longer he would even want to resist it, especially not with what she'd just confessed to him.

So his path was now clear. She had not yet been in his residence a week, but Ichigo was now certain that he needed to get Inoue Orihime out of his house. And the sooner she was gone, the better.


	6. Chapter Six

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Six  
**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness, religious topics. Should be read with the lights off.  
**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

* * *

Handfuls of snow fluttered to the ground as peals of laughter rang through the chill air. As one girl ran laughing through the drifts, and another ran after her competitively, a pair of cinnamon brown eyes followed them keenly.

"Orihime, put your mittens on!"

"Come catch me, Tatsuki! Come catch me!"

Ichigo followed the laughing girls across the snowy courtyard with his eyes, watching them chase each other gleefully. He had never seen Tatsuki take to someone so easily. Even his own sisters were kept at arms length with her; she treated them just like her own little sisters or cousins, not like friends. And she and Rukia were both too stubborn and reserved to get on too well. It wasn't that they minded each other at all; they just had no reason to be close.

But now, this auburn-haired girl had come sweeping into their family estate, bringing light and laughter in her wake. Accommodating her had brought warmth into the cold castle, joy into the air, and activity into otherwise dead walls. And Ichigo was about to put an end to it.

He hoped Tatsuki wouldn't hate him for this. Oh, he'd given her plenty of reasons to hate him already, and he was sure this would be just one more. And he knew she'd yell at him for backing down on this, as well. But he'd rather live with his cowardice and Tatsuki's scorn than with hurting Orihime on his conscience.

He took a single step into the darkened, twilight courtyard. The snow crunched beneath his boot as he moved into the pool of light cast by the doorway. Before he could tell either girl his decision, though, a deep voice stopped him.

"Ichigo."

Ichigo turned to see Chad's large form standing behind him. His serious countenance melted immediately into one of polite curiosity.

"What is it, Chad?" he asked softly, not wanting to draw the girls' attention just yet.

"Last night," he said slowly, his deep voice gentle, "When we were at her house..." Ichigo's eyebrows rose. Had something happened while he was speaking with Orihime's sister? As Chad's pause lengthened, though, Ichigo's patience grew thinner.

"What?" he finally prompted his large friend. "Did something happen?" Chad raised a single finger silently before continuing.

"There was something there," he finished. Ichigo was at a total loss. "Something dangerous," the Spaniard said by way of explanation. Ichigo figured that was all he would say without further prompting, so he deliberated on the best way to get the relevant information out of him.

"Inside the house?" Ichigo finally led, a skeptical look on his face. He was terrible at sensing anything out of the ordinary, so much so that he usually relied on his manservants to alert him to any others like themselves in the area. As such, he needed to be told where exactly the threat was.

"No," Chad rumbled a response, "It was outside. Probably in the woods." Ichigo's countenance grew darker as he contemplated this information. If it was hiding in the woods, it obviously didn't want to be seen. Maybe it had good reason for that, but the reason was just as likely to be malicious.

"Do you think it was just passing through?" Ichigo asked warily, trying to include all options. Chad shook his shaggy, dark head.

"It stayed near the house the whole time," he replied, "It came nearer when you went inside. Like it was watching the house."

Ichigo didn't like this one bit. The fact that the other creature was lingering outside made him think that it had not been invited _inside_ yet. While this was probably a good thing for Rangiku, it only remained so while she stayed inside the house. And the fact that something like that was watching Orihime's doorstep wasn't a comforting thought anyway.

There was something else, too. Vampires were mostly territorial; this land and its holdings had belonged to his family for ages. Whoever was out there may very well have been ignorant of the Kurosakis' claim to it; Ichigo and his servants rarely ventured into town or left traces of themselves anywhere, and the rest of his family had gone to Budapest years ago. But the fact that someone strange was on his land did not sit well with him. Neither did the fact that they seemed to be hovering over his human as well.

Ichigo cursed inwardly at that thought. When did Orihime become _his_ human?

Shaking the thought away, Ichigo turned his glower back to Chad. As lord of the land, it was his duty to find whatever thing was out there and evict them as he saw fit. He would not allow another vampire to kill from his flock without his permission.

"We need to find it," he growled, "And find out what its intentions are. It doesn't belong here either way." Chad simply nodded.

Before the conversation could progress any further, though, Ichigo felt something cold and wet collide with the side of his head.

The snowball exploded on impact, leaving cold skin and a fine powdering of snow on Ichigo's jaw. He didn't flinch at all from the impact itself; he did jump at the surprise of being struck, though. As the ball fell to the ground and ice crystals began to form on his skin, he turned with wide eyes to see from whence it came.

"Oh no! Count Kurosaki, please forgive me!"

There, across the courtyard and heading toward him in a flurry of furs and skirts, was Orihime. Auburn hair floated around her in a cloud as tiny leather boots disturbed the powdery snow around them. Her cheeks and nose were rosy with the cold while her eyes shone with unshed tears of embarrassment. Any irritation Ichigo had felt at being pelted with the snowball was immediately washed away at the sight of her.

"I'm so sorry," she cried, bending over and gasping from the brief run, "I-I was aiming for Tatsuki and maybe the wind carried it off course, o-or snow fairies, and..." Ichigo shushed her with a hand on her shoulder. As she caught her breath and lifted her head, her wide amber eyes met Ichigo's. He gave her an awkward little smile.

"It's alright," he said gently, noting the way her whole face turned a charming pink, "I was just startled, that's all." Then, looking down, he noticed Orihime's hands were bare.

"Where are your gloves?" he asked as his mouth turned down in a little frown. He took her little red hands in his, nearly enveloping them. They were remarkably cold, even by his standards.

As Ichigo looked thoughtfully at her hands, Orihime's little mouth hung open slightly. At first she just looked somewhat flustered, but that soon gave way to confusion. She finally looked as though something important had just registered with her.

"I-I forgot them," she stammered, "But yours are like ice! Are you okay?" Ichigo's eyebrows arched at her inquiry. Finally, he realized his mistake; he'd been standing in the doorway for a while, and he had no gloves on either. His skin was now as cold as the snow laying on the ground, and he'd touched hers. She'd noticed his lack of body heat.

"I'm fine," he said quickly, trying to deflect any suspicion, "I've just been in the doorway a bit too long. Please don't worry yourself." But Orihime's expression _was_ worried; she slipped her hands out of his, then covered them with her own. As she stepped determinedly into the adjacent sitting room, she tugged Ichigo along with her.

"This is why you should build more fires in here," she tutted, forgetting any embarrassment, "You'll catch your death like this!" Ichigo could feel color sluggishly rising to his cheeks.

"You were the one playing in the snow with no mittens," he fussed, surprised she would scold him. She always seemed so mild to him. Now she was pouting and fretting about him.

"That's different!" she protested, holding up her red hands, "See? They're already warming back up!" And with that, she planted them on either side of Ichigo's face.

"They feel hot because you were just outside in the snow," Ichigo responded with a scowl, pulling her hands from his cheeks, "You've probably got frostbite!" Orihime's eyes widened at his touch as she shook her head.

"I do not!" replied she, "Your skin turns white when you have frostbite!" By this point, she had pulled Ichigo beside the large fireplace in the dining room, which had stayed lit from Tatsuki and Orihime's lessons. Ichigo noticed and quirked an eyebrow at her.

"You're going to ruin your dress if you sit there," Ichigo murmured, watching the redheaded girl bend down to stoke the fire. Orihime sported her cute little blush as she rose and went to the dining room table. She pulled one of his high-backed chairs out and brought it to Ichigo. He simply sighed at her expectant look.

"Sit," he ordered her, "Ladies do not bring chairs to gentlemen." Orihime looked genuinely puzzled for a moment before Ichigo reached over and gently pushed her into the chair she'd just fetched. She was too startled to respond immediately, but as Ichigo turned to get one of his own, she finally spoke up.

"But... You're really cold!" she cried, "You need to sit down more than I do!" Her plaintive voice might have been moving, but Ichigo's face remained rigid. He took the nearest chair in one hand and brought it back to the fire, pulling it beside Orihime's.

"I'll sit here to warm up," he replied slowly, "But only if you sit as well." Orihime pouted at him as if she didn't like it, but was unsure whether to argue or not. Ichigo sighed; she was too well-meaning for her own good.

"But I..." she began before Ichigo silenced her by shaking his head.

"The servants can bring whatever we want," he reminded her, "You don't have to do everything yourself." Orihime looked down sheepishly at her lap.

"When my father arrives," Ichigo continued, "He'll be expecting a noblelady, Miss Inoue. Tatsuki is working on your formal manners, but you have to behave properly the rest of the time he's around, too." Orihime was twisting her skirt between her hands now. Ichigo watched her, feeling a pang of conscience at her ashamed expression.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, "I'll try to be more ladylike." Ichigo's eyelids lowered, lashes fanning across his cheeks. She sounded absolutely mortified. To try and defuse some of the tension, he reached over and took one of Orihime's hands. She gasped quietly when he touched her, his skin still much cooler than it should've been. But there was something more to her tone - a wince.

"Does it hurt?" he asked softly. He gently massaged her little hands, marveling at their softness and pulsing warmth. For the first time that night, he was aware of her heartbeat and of the blood flowing through her precious veins. He realized that her thick clothes had been keeping her pulse hidden from view. Ichigo offered silent thanks to Tatsuki for bundling her up like that; it brought him a measure of relief from his often chaotic thoughts.

Orihime whimpered pitifully as his fingers kneaded hers. He had figured she'd feel some pain from the cold, but it fascinated him that warming her hands up again would be the cause of it.

"So you were getting frostbite after all," he mumbled, casting his serious gaze at her red fingers.

"I-It doesn't hurt," she protested softly. Ichigo knew better, though. She was a horrible liar.

Her pain irritated him. He hated it. Even though she was just a human, and he knew he shouldn't care, it made him angry to see her hurt. And even though he wouldn't act on it or admit it to her, it even made him a little angry at her, too. But even as dense as Ichigo could be, even he knew it would be counter-productive to make her feel worse about being in pain.

Still, as he massaged the warmth back into her fingers, he realized that he couldn't send her away now. With the new information Chad had given him, he had a reason to let her stay that his rational mind could agree with. But he also realized with an inward wince that if he couldn't even stand watching her get a little too cold, there was no way he'd be able to send her into the path of another of his kind.

Ichigo told himself that he was just being territorial when he felt his anger flare at the thought. But that didn't explain why he was frustrated over her hands. He huffed out a sigh. He couldn't send her away, but he didn't know what he was actually going to _do_ with her.

"Miss Inoue," he said quietly, "Please listen to Tatsuki next time." Orihime nodded shyly in response. Feeling he'd already scolded her enough, Ichigo decided to move on to another topic. "Have you eaten yet tonight?"

"Ah, n-no," she answered shyly, "I wanted to play in the snow before we ate." This gave Ichigo a small smile; there was something charming about the way she admitted she'd rather play than eat.

"I'll call Kurotsuchi, then," he replied, "We'll get you heated up and fed." His voice was soft and warmer than usual. Orihime's light blush did not go unnoticed.

It didn't go unnoticed by the pair hovering before the now-closed patio door, either. Chad watched the two redheads calmly while Tatsuki brushed the powdery snow off her shoulders with a huff.

"Those two," Tatsuki whispered playfully, "I leave them alone for two seconds and they're already making kissy faces at each other." Chad looked down at her, raising one brown eyebrow.

"That's good, though," he observed. Tatsuki shook herself out of her coat before hanging it beside the door.

"Yeah, it is," she agreed quietly. The tall Spaniard's expression barely changed, but a hint of curiosity flickered across his face.

"You aren't upset?" he asked. Chad always did have a penchant for getting straight to the point. Tatsuki simply shook some melting snow crystals from her hair.

"No," she said, "I like Orihime. She's been able to get through to him in a week more than I could in a year. And it isn't like she's taking anything away from me, anyway."

Chad said nothing. Instead, he gave Tatsuki an understanding nod. He knew very well what she was referring to.

It was something that none of the men in the house would address directly, even though they all knew about it. How could they not? It had drastically changed all their lives.

Obviously Tatsuki had been affected the most. But it wasn't something she was willing to discuss, at any rate. Chad was just glad she didn't seem to hold a grudge against Ichigo - or any of them for that matter. He wouldn't blame her at all if she did. But she had always been family, and they were all grateful it had stayed that way.

Looking at his redheaded master now, as he sat before the fire with the young lady's hand between his, Chad could see the changes that were coming over him. He looked like he was concentrating, trying very hard not to hurt her with his hands as he massaged her fingers. This was the first person Chad could remember Ichigo being this gentle with. Even his sisters didn't see this much consideration from him. It wasn't that he didn't love them just as much; he loved them so much that he would rather leave them than put them in any danger from his affliction. But this was different from that kind of love.

There was something different in his manner of speaking, in how he behaved in front of this girl. He was usually gruff and sharp, but with this girl it was softened. He was gentle and protective and actually courteous for once in his life. Chad actually wondered with a bit of awe if there might be a new addition to their family soon.

"Come on," Tatsuki nudged him finally, "If we don't get Nemu to start dinner soon, Orihime'll die of starvation." Chad simply nodded before following Tatsuki out of the room. For once, it felt like it'd be safe to leave Ichigo alone with the girl.

* * *

Several hundred miles to the south and west, moonlight filtered into the rooms of a well-furnished urban residence. The pale light cast shadows over the large living space resplendent with rich furnishings, the heavy draperies, and ornate, inlaid furniture. But the heart of the residence lay far below that presentable facade.

Beneath the elegant front, below street level, were brick tunnels and shadowy basements. Tight corridors lit only by dim torches wound through the foundations of the building. Rats scurried in the shadows, but weren't quite foolish enough to approach the residents of these ancient catacombs. A sound like the soft beating of wings resounded through the tunnels, torches flickering in the wake of the changes in air pressure.

Those flickering shadows pressed deeper into the dark, tight tunnels, sending rats and spiders scurrying in their wake. At their center was a sleek little black bat, the soft white patch of fur on its belly and the leather of its wings blending into the darkness as it flew. It turned this way and that, curving through the corridors towards its goal. It was close now, nearing the heart of the tombs, passing coffins and candelabras.

Finally, the small creature's destination was in sight: a large, stone entrance way set into the musty brick and clay walls. The Byzantine arch framed a heavy wooden door that flew inward at the bat's approach, as though its tiny wings themselves had blown it open.

Inside the large room, bookshelves yawned with heavy tomes while half-burnt candles dripped wax on the parchment beneath them. Paintings of a man and his family lined the walls, as well as maps and charts of the human body. A few beakers of smoldering, oddly-colored liquid perked along one shelf, giving the musty room a smell something like a cross between a library and an alchemist's lab.

The bat flew right to the middle of the room, extinguishing several candles as it passed. It hovered quietly for a few moments before its body began to elongate, the tiny patch of silvery white fur growing to cover its entire body, pushing the black to the shadows and edges of its frame. In another few seconds, no bat was there at all; instead, there was a tall, slender, elegant man in its place.

He stood straight, his face stern as firelight glinted off his monocle. His clothes were impeccable, crisp and white, even after his long, arduous journey from the snowy hills up north. His wings had elongated out into an ankle-length cape, and he now carried a fashionable walking stick in one white-gloved hand. This man was dressed to kill.

Meanwhile, at the far end of the room sat a man dressed completely in shades of black and red. He had turned when the bat had entered to face him, and now sat waiting for him to speak. One leg was lazily crossed at the knee and one hand propped his jaw up as his elbow rested on his desk. By contrast of his guest, this man was not nearly as neat. His clothes were rumpled from wear and from his own desire for comfort, his stubble was untrimmed, and his hair was messy. Still, there was a distinct liveliness in his manner and twinkling in his eyes that bespoke a certain youthfulness and energy that the other man did not have.

"Well?" the man at the desk finally asked, a smirk teasing the corners of his mouth.

"The correspondence was correct," said the white-haired man as he flicked some imaginary dust from his shoulder, "There is indeed a girl there." At this confirmation, the black-haired man's twinkling eyes shone.

"Well, go on!" he exclaimed, "What is she like? Is she pretty? How is her personality?" His white counterpart snorted.

"In a word? Clumsy," he began imperiously, "They have Miss Arisawa looking after her." The black-haired man flinched. It did not go unnoticed by his guest, but he continued anyway.

"Her manners are atrocious," he went on, "She talks to herself day and night, and she cleans as though she's a servant." The man receiving the report looked absolutely crestfallen.

"Is she at least decent-looking?" he asked, his voice betraying some misery. His companion rolled his eyes.

"Yes, yes," he sighed, removing his monocle and cleaning it on his lace cravat, "She's fairly attractive. Not my type at all, though." At this, it was his companion's turn to snort; in this case, however, it was a barely-suppressed chuckle.

"She doesn't have to be your type, old man!" he cried gleefully, rising and patting the white-haired man on the back hard enough to knock the wind out of him, "As long as she's Ichigo's!" His guest simply glared at him.

"I certainly don't understand what he sees in her," he said with a wheeze, "And he barely sees her, anyway. It's like there's hardly any relationship there at all." The black-haired man's eyes turned shrewd at this revelation.

"That's certainly interesting," he murmured, "His letter sounded as though they were madly in love and about to elope." The tone of his voice suggested he didn't believe what he'd just said any more than the white-clad man before him did.

"I can assure you that is most definitely not the case," said he, diverting his attention to his ivory walking stick, "He mostly has his servants handle her." His voice almost sounded bored, but his companion was quite clearly growing quickly agitated.

"If he intends to marry her anyhow," he said slowly, "I'll understand. But the fact that he lied about their relationship..."

"It's heavily suspicious," the white-haired man finished for him. He met his companion's keen, dark eyes.

"Exactly," the black-haired man confirmed before pacing over to the doorway of his study. Upon reaching it, he stopped and turned to his servant.

"Send two envoys," said he, "One to the Kuchiki clan and the other to St. Peter's in Vienna. I want them to accompany us when we set out next week." The white-haired man's expression did not change, but a glimmer of recognition flitted across his face.

"And you, Kurosaki?" he asked, not yet moving. The Marquis Kurosaki threw his servant a devil-may-care grin over his shoulder as he waved.

"Me?" he parroted, "I'm going to make travel arrangements for all of us."


	7. Chapter Seven

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Seven  
**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness, religious topics, abusive sexual situations. Should be read with the lights off.  
**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

**Author's Note:** Oh man, this week's been hard. Work has been pretty relentless and I've not been able to get the chapter written on time. But it's here now! And it's actually longer than most other chapters! But as a reminder, _please_ go reread the warnings, since they've changed for this chapter and I don't want to blindside anyone. This is a pretty dark chapter and might make some readers uncomfortable. Still, I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

A pair of red eyes followed the black-haired figure across the field of snow, jealously taking in its movements as it headed towards its destination.

Even at this distance, and with the cover of the edges of the dark forest, he could make out enough about the traveler. The figure was male, first of all; that much was obvious from his frame and his gait. He could see a shock of spiky black hair contrasting the brilliant moonlit blues and whites of the early evening snowfall. There were scars all down one side of his face, as though he'd been clawed by a wild animal. And in his hands, a basket full of bread.

The predator's eyes narrowed at this intruder. The black-haired interloper had been sniffing around his territory for over a week now, bringing food and spending the night at the house he'd had his eye on. His Rangiku hadn't come out since Kurosaki's men had visited the first time, either. He knew she was still alive in there; otherwise, that annoying intruder wouldn't have kept coming by. But he was growing tired of waiting for her to emerge, and irritated with the visitor that was constantly calling. Even worse, he was starting to feel hungry again. It was time to take matters into his own hands.

Unfortunately, the annoying black-haired man reached the house before the hunter could give chase. He would have relished a chance to tear that man limb from limb, but at this point an attack would only attract attention. He was bloodthirsty, not stupid.

So he let him go on to the house and knock on the door. He listened intently as the black-haired man laid three heavy knocks on the door before announcing himself to Rangiku. After another few moments, the woman in question opened the door and exclaimed her excitement; the visitor was happily ushered inside, the door shutting and bathing the snow in the nightfall's darkness once again.

Mere yards away, a low growl sounded in the hunter's throat as the thin tree branch he'd been holding snapped.

* * *

"Thank you, Shuuhei!"

The blonde leaned up on her tiptoes and planted a small kiss on the blacksmith's scarred cheek. He blushed shyly, his ruddy skin turning pale red in the firelight. And just as quickly she was gone again, his basket in hand and moving toward the fire.

"A-Ah, you're welcome, Miss Rangiku," he said quietly, haltingly. Rangiku pouted at him from over her shoulder.

"Oh, Shuuhei," she sighed, "You can drop the 'miss', you know. We know each other better than that." If possible, his blush deepened.

"A-Alright," he agreed, coming to rest at the table. After watching Rangiku coo over the potato and beet soup she was making for a moment, he finally broke the silence. "How are you feeling today?"

"Fit as a fiddle!" she chirped, standing straight again, "I just don't know if I'm ready to go back to work just yet." Shuuhei raised his good eyebrow, thankful for a distraction from being flustered by her. Then again, that was a near-constant state for him whenever she was nearby.

"Why not?" he asked, genuinely curious. Sure, Rangiku could be lazy, but she rarely missed work; she just goofed off once she got there.

"If the Count keeps giving us money, neither Orihime nor I will have to work ever again!" she happily explained. Shuuhei let a little concern color his otherwise stoic expression.

"Rangiku," he finally said, "Aren't you worried?" She stopped tending her stew to cast Shuuhei a tender look. "About Miss Orihime, I mean." The silence stretched on for several seconds before she finally answered him.

"Of course I worry," she replied softly, "But the Count seems like a decent man. And it's only for a month. And who knows, maybe he'll decide to keep her. Then she can have a nice wardrobe and plenty to eat and a big castle to live in." Shuuhei couldn't help but feel like her voice was heavy with sadness, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he rose from his spot at the table and moved to embrace Rangiku from behind silently.

"I miss her, Shuuhei," she finally said quietly, "I'll be happy if she does well, but I still miss her." He rested his chin on the crown of her head, giving her midsection a squeeze.

There was nothing Shuuhei felt comfortable saying. He certainly didn't want Rangiku to know about the nasty rumors that had been circulating around town about her younger sister or the Count. Many of the townspeople had decided he was a demon of some kind already; as far as they knew, he was the small son of the Count that the older folks had known in their youth. The description Rangiku had given Shuuhei had gotten around already; it seemed to exactly match the memory of the scowling little boy that had lived in the castle on the hill some sixty years prior.

Shuuhei had prevailed upon them that it was most likely a grandson or nephew, but the older folk had been adamant. The most popular theory they'd come up with so far was that the Count and his family were some kind of demons that stole the souls of young girls to maintain their youth. Shuuhei had tried to insist they were being ridiculous, but he'd easily been overruled. And according to the townsfolk, Orihime was either already dead, or had been turned into some kind of demonic vixen that preyed on the souls of men.

Shuuhei couldn't help but think that last one was wishful thinking on the old men's part.

Still, with as much meanness as Rangiku had already attracted from the wives in town just by being pretty, he knew she would have a lot to say about them going after Orihime. Even worse than that, Orihime might actually be in some kind of real trouble; the situation was sketchy enough either way.

"Shuuhei," she finally breathed, turning and burying her face in his neck. He held her tightly, content to breathe in the scent of her hair. If she needed him, whether it was to bring her bread, or to march up that hill and bring her sister back, he would do it.

* * *

It was late into the night when she heard it.

Rangiku had been fast asleep in the main room of the house, her bedding fixed before the fire. Shuuhei lay beside her in a deep slumber; he'd decided it was too dark out to return home in light of the recent killings, and had opted instead to stay the night. He had agreed to leave as soon as the sun rose. It wasn't the first time this had happened to someone in their village, but it was still better to avoid any undue rumors.

The noise started softly at first, a tiny scratching that could've been made by a mouse. As it grew louder, Rangiku's eyes fluttered open. She blearily wondered where the noise was coming from as she sat up to rub her eyes.

Then the noise grew even louder. It was the sound of claws digging into wood and rattling the shutters. As she began to register the source of the sounds, she turned to the window, eyes slowly widening. Something was trying to get in.

Rangiku sprang from her bedding, diving for her house robe. As soon as her arms were inside it, she threw her thick outside coat on over it. Then she grabbed a kitchen knife and her broom and flung open the front door.

The scratching seemed to be coming from the side of the house, so Rangiku headed that way, bare feet crunching in the snow. She clenched her teeth together tightly to keep them from chattering, and her feet burned from the cold as she walked around the house. Finally, she had a clear look at the clattering shutter.

It was as normal as any other shutter on the house, and seemed to have been knocked loose from its latchings for no apparent reason. But now, it wasn't shaking or rattling; it was only flapping impotently against its frame. Rangiku sighed and shook her head, pulling her coat closed as she moved over to fasten the latch.

As her hand moved to latch the wooden boards shut again, a pair of ghostly white arms wrapped around Rangiku. As soon as she felt them, she jolted, a scream stuck in her throat. It never reached her lips; one pale, fine-boned hand reached up and clasped over her mouth. The other curled around her midsection, pulling her against something firm and cold. She continued to thrash until the owner of the arms leaned over to whisper into her ear.

"Hey, Rangiku," he murmured softly, "Miss me?" The voice sounded entirely too familiar to her for reasons she couldn't quite place. It seemed as though it had been many years since she'd heard it.

But before she got much chance to contemplate this, she suddenly felt very drowsy. She allowed herself to slump against her captor, the bitter cold and throbbing fear fading into background noise.

"Heh," he said, his voice watery and distant now, "Guess I didn't need to come inside after all. I lured ya out here just fine."

But Rangiku could hardly make out what he was saying, much less bring herself to care. All she knew was that she was vaguely cold and immobile. As she began to lose consciousness, she thought she felt the skin on her neck being pricked; but after a couple more seconds, it failed to matter at all.

* * *

Uryuu flew across the snow-covered hillside, kicking up a spray of white powder whenever a foot touched the ground. His eyes narrowed as he looked out over the last remaining sliver of the waning moon's light casting pale shadows over the landscape. He had been searching all night for the intruder in their sleepy town, and now that it was close to the end of the night, he had absolutely nothing to show for it.

Perhaps Ichigo or Sado had fared better.

Still, a tinge of worry shadowed Uryuu's features. It wasn't the intruder he was worried about; it was Nemu.

Uryuu used to have no problem leaving her back in the castle. Even though she obeyed his every command, she was fairly useless in a fight. She tended to fight too brutally and without thinking. And of course he didn't want to see her get hurt. And he had no problem leaving her with Tatsuki; the black-haired girl was well strong enough to deal with anything Nemu threw at her.

No, now he worried for a different reason. Now there was a human girl prancing through their home.

To Nemu's addled mind, humans were nothing more than food. As a ghoul, she lacked the ability to reason at a normal adult level; instead, she mindlessly obeyed every word Uryuu uttered. He'd learned very early on to watch what he said around her; to her, his slightest comment could be construed as a dangerous command.

Uryuu frowned. Tatsuki had already warned him about Nemu stalking Orihime. And while he was aware that Tatsuki had warned her too, he still worried that her instinct would get the better of her. Tatsuki was not the one she listened to, and even though he'd given her a direct order, it might not be within her ability to follow it properly.

It was not her fault. None of it was. That knowledge was a bitter reminder to Uryuu; Nemu had not chosen what she became. In truth, neither had Uryuu, not completely. Oh, he certainly felt the burden of his own decisions heavily on his shoulders, and emotionally he blamed himself. But logically, he knew his own sins were minuscule compared to those of Mayuri Kurotsuchi.

He had first encountered Nemu and her father on the outskirts of Budapest ten years earlier. The Marquis Kurosaki had interest in acquiring a blood replacement drug, and Mayuri had a reputation at the time as something of a mad genius. When every other apothecary in town had come up empty-handed, he was the man to turn to.

He was also known to be fairly unscrupulous when it came to his work. Ethics were of no concern to him when it came to synthesizing his drugs; neither were laws. As unsavory as the man could be, it also meant he'd ask few questions of his customers. This was exactly the kind of situation the Marquis had been looking for.

Since his own father was the Marquis' valet, and Uryuu was to become Ichigo's, the elder Kurosaki thought this a perfect opportunity to let Uryuu get his feet wet with the procurement of the drugs. Naturally, such a request had never been made of Kurotsuchi before, and he seemed to relish the challenge. He worked tirelessly to create the elusive drug, and Uryuu stopped by frequently to monitor his progress. At first, it seemed to be the perfect arrangement.

As the weeks passed, Uryuu became fast friends with the daughter, Nemu. She was quiet and withdrawn, but she smiled and blushed prettily when he talked to her. Her voice, when she used it, was light and pretty, and when she laughed it was awkward but sweet. Above all, she was dutiful to her father, who was her mentor and sole support. Uryuu, for as stoic as he could normally be, was smitten by her.

Such an idyllic state of affairs couldn't last, of course. One day, as Uryuu dropped by for his usual visit, he happened to spot another customer on his way out of the shop. Now, his scruffy clothes and sloppy demeanor didn't get Uryuu's attention; the Kurotsuchis worked in one of the more run-down districts in town, so seeing an unkempt customer was nothing extraordinary. It was the man's smell. He smelled like sex.

Uryuu's eyebrows drew together as the man passed, whistling to himself as he readjusted his shirt. Did Nemu have a lover? Why someone as classless as that? Uryuu felt jealousy prick his heart; did she not have feelings for him after all? His gaze was downcast with concentration as he entered the apothecary's shop.

Nemu was nowhere to be found while Mayuri sat at his workbench, counting and placing small, round coins into a small purse. Uryuu's mind was still a bit slow to see anything rational or logical at this point and just assumed he had sold something recently, so he said nothing. In hindsight, he could have prevented everything had he killed the apothecary on the spot.

Instead, he inquired politely about the research and engaged in a little idle chit-chat, trying to ignore that jealousy he'd felt before. If Nemu had someone else, that was none of his business and he'd just have to live with it. But presently, she came down from her quarters above the shop.

She was pale and wan and a bit bedraggled. Instead of the small smile she usually wore whenever she saw Uryuu, an understated look of horror crossed her face. It was gone in an instant, replaced with a passive, well-practiced mask of indifference. Still, it had not gone unnoticed. Neither had the swelling and redness around her eyes, sure signs she'd been crying. And worst of all, she smelled of sex, as well.

Uryuu felt anger swell within his breast. Something strange was going on here, and it was looking less and less like Nemu actually had a lover. He dropped whatever conversation he'd been having with Mayuri and moved to intercept her from the staircase.

She was cagey and shy and refused to meet his eyes. Every non-answer and deflection she gave Uryuu made him angrier and angrier. Finally, having had enough of Nemu's evasiveness, he rounded on her father. And that's when the ugly truth came out.

Yes, of course she had slept with that man. Mayuri had arranged it himself, and had been doing so for quite some time. In his estimation, Nemu was useless as a marriage prospect and barely much better as an assistant and needed to find some way to pay for her keep. Besides which, the supplies needed to make the fabulous drugs the two created didn't come cheap; this side "business" of his helped him maintain his apothecary's solvency.

Furthermore, when Uryuu started visiting under the Marquis' orders, Mayuri had ordered Nemu to seduce the young nobleman in the hopes of creating a profitable union between the two. Once she was safely an Ishida, there would no longer be any need for them to scrape to survive. At this revelation, Uryuu had turned to Nemu to ask if it was true, but she would not look at him. Instead, she studied the ground, a look of guilt obscured by her long black bangs.

Even with all these revelations, it was evident the elder Kurotsuchi felt no shame. He didn't flinch or fidget or blush; he looked straight at Uryuu with his unnerving, stony glare. He even offered to sell Nemu to him, if he wanted her that badly, either for a night or as his wife.

Naturally, Uryuu didn't take this new proposition well. In fact, he was furious. He lunged at Mayuri from across the room, knocking several noxious beakers full of bubbling liquid to the floor. Horrified, Nemu hung back, covering her face as the two fought.

Mayuri was no fool, though. Far from it; Uryuu had little idea at the time, but even as soon as his second visit, Mayuri had already figured out his exact nature. It was little trouble for him to then figure out exactly how best to kill Uryuu, should the need arise. And clearly, it had.

After clumsily fending off the enraged vampire for several seconds, he finally reached the table he'd been looking for. He picked up a single metal syringe, then wheeled around and stabbed Uryuu right in the chest with it. Uryuu stared in shock for a moment as his mind processed what was happening; but by the time he realized Kurotsuchi was injecting him with something deadly, it was already too late. The silver nitrate was already coursing through his veins.

He was on his knees in an instant, clutching his chest. The burning metal solution slid through his body like a snake, burning and poisoning everything it touched. Worse yet, Uryuu could smell smoke and fire; the chemicals he'd knocked to the floor had mixed, combusted, and were now rapidly spreading across the shop. It took him a second to realize that he could also smell his own body burning from the inside out.

Most of what happened next remained a blur to Uryuu, even ten years later. He knew bare facts: Mayuri attempted to finish him off with a sword, Nemu had taken the blow herself, and the two were left to burn to death in the hellish blaze. Past that, he didn't know much. He didn't know how he'd gotten them both to safety. He didn't know at what point he realized Nemu was dying. He didn't know why he'd decided to give her his blood while he was dying as well. Perhaps he thought that she should live, even if he should die. In retrospect, it was a horrendously unsound idea. But at the time, it was the only thing that made sense to him.

So he did. He opened a vein on the arm opposite his wound and pressed it to her lips, even as blood rushed from the wound across her chest. She made no motion to drink, instead merely laying there and accepting the blood. He knew she was still barely alive; he could feel her heartbeat. But soon, that faded as well. Uryuu didn't worry; that was a normal death.

The Kurosakis would surely come looking and find them and bury her. After several hours, she would rise again, good as new. Then they could watch over her and train her properly. These were Uryuu's last thoughts before darkness overwhelmed him.

When next he woke, many days had passed. Nemu awaited him, as did the Kurosaki clan... and his incensed father. He'd never heard the white-haired man utter such profanity, although his proclamations of Uryuu's incompetence were hardly new. And he hardly approved of his son's newly-created new companion, for reasons Uryuu would soon learn.

In addition, there was another visitor, one that Uryuu had seldom seen. He was a tall, thin man with blond hair, and he'd come from the west at the Marquis' request. He was obviously one of their kind, his pale skin and toothy grin a dead give away. He explained what he'd done to expel Mayuri's poison, and although Uryuu was quite intelligent, the workings of this man's mind were beyond him. However, he was grateful for the tall man's help.

Together, the blond man and the Marquis asked Uryuu what had happened. Then, once they had all the relevant information, they explained Nemu's situation to Uryuu.

Nemu was no longer human, but she wasn't actually a vampire, either. She was a ghoul, a soulless, emotionless doll with an insatiable appetite for blood and human flesh. She had little motivation or will to do anything without Uryuu's order, or that didn't bend to her hellish desire for blood. This was why his father had been so angry about her; now that Uryuu had created her, he basically had to watch her at all times.

And as much as Uryuu wanted to believe otherwise, he knew that she was now incapable of returning his feelings. Without free will of her own, she could never feel more than the compulsive need to obey him. She would be unable to learn new skills or retain new information for long periods of time. Her interest in medicine was now nonexistent. She would never bear children; even if she physically could (and given the propensity of her father to run experiments on her, he doubted it), she wouldn't recognize them as her own children. And even if she was able to emotionally connect with them, she would still be likely to injure or kill them. For all intents and purposes, Nemu was now nearly a stranger, almost an animal, even.

Yet Uryuu still felt responsibility towards her. He knew this was his own bad judgment and that without free will, she would've been better off just dying. Had he been less selfish and less panicked, she would never have been condemned to this living hell. But there was nothing to be done for it now; regardless of what she had become, Uryuu still loved her.

With the blond man's care, he recovered quickly. Nemu hovered silently beside him the entire time. When she was hungry, which was more often at the beginning, Ichigo or Sado would take her out to hunt; when they realized this was a dangerous proposition, they brought prey to her. Since she had no physical requirement for the blood of the living, she was often given corpses. Even by vampire standards, it was repugnant.

Finally, Uryuu was fully healed. Unfortunately, since the process had taken a few weeks, by the time he was well, Mayuri had already salvaged what was left of his apothecary and skipped town. Now, in addition to the impotent frustration he felt at Nemu's condition, he couldn't even take vengeance for her or himself.

Thus began a several week long quest to hunt down the alchemist and make him pay. Uryuu took Nemu with him as he traveled, covering as much ground as they could during the night while Mayuri fled north and westward during the day. They finally caught up to him outside of Prague, having established another small shop in the poorest part of town.

When they went to confront him, however, to Uryuu's surprise _Nemu_ was the one to attack. She needed no order from Uryuu; in fact, he had expected her to remain entirely passive, as she usually did. Instead, she tore her own father limb-from-limb without remorse.

To this day, Uryuu didn't know why she did it. Was it instinct? Did she remember her father from her life before? Had she realized Uryuu's intent and simply acted on it without being told? Or was it possible she recognized her former tormentor and wanted revenge for how she'd suffered? No answers were forthcoming when Uryuu asked, but it did give him hope that the old Nemu was still alive in there somewhere.

After that, things were fairly peaceful for the two of them. Uryuu's father never came to accept her, but the Kurosaki family themselves were fairly accommodating towards her. And although she never expressed emotion, Uryuu came to suspect that it wasn't because she didn't feel it. In fact, the two of them became closer because of her transformation.

She was at his side whenever possible, which usually meant whenever Uryuu was inside the castle. She did smile at him from time to time like she used to; occasionally, she even kissed him on her own. There were even the rare occasions that she initiated sex with him. Because of her limited capabilities, it was something that Uryuu was loathe to even suggest to her; but if she asked, he was unable to deny her.

And thus they were now. Uryuu wanted to get home quickly to keep an eye on her. Tatsuki had already made it very clear that if Nemu attacked Orihime, she wouldn't hesitate to kill her, and Uryuu didn't want that. And to his mind, her hunger wasn't really her fault; they had brought a living girl into their midst and expected Nemu to exhibit an amount of self-control that might very well have been overwhelming for her.

As he navigated the hidden path the Kurosakis used to get to their castle from the village, Uryuu heard the soft flapping of wings behind him. He paused in his flight, turning to see the little brown bat following in his wake as he hit the ground.

"Did you find something?" Uryuu asked, watching as the bat transformed into his tall Spanish friend.

"Ichigo has been fighting," he replied simply, "He needs you at Miss Inoue's house."


	8. Chapter Eight

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Eight  
**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness, religious topics. Should be read with the lights off.  
**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

**Author's Note:** Sorry to make you guys wait, but I just finished this very late last night and needed to sleep before posting it! But here it is now! XD

* * *

Uryuu came down the snowy, wooded hillside all in a tumble, the very early morning light filtering through bare branches and glancing off the spray of snow. As he finally arrived to Orihime's house, he saw the signs of struggle around the side. The wooden shutters were splintered, long scratches gouging the outside of the house. There were small, fractured pieces of wood littering the snow, as well as bright red splashes of blood.

As his eyes followed the trail of blood back to the house, Uryuu realized the fight was already over. He had no doubts Ichigo had prevailed, but the blood was certainly worrying.

He followed it around to the front of the house and up the steps to the front door. The blood trail went through the closed front door, but that was no impediment to Uryuu. He had already been invited inside once; there was nothing stopping him from entering again.

Uryuu pushed the door open with no fanfare, swinging the heavy wooden slab aside as though it were made of paper. It scraped against the cold, wooden floor as it swung inward, revealing the chaos inside.

Orihime's blonde sister lay in the middle of the floor, straw hair ringing her head and spread out on the blankets that had been lain beneath her. He could see the rise and fall of her generous assets, and the faint flutter of a weak pulse on her throat. And beside her sat Ichigo, clutching his side as a bright red stain seeped into the fabric of his shirt. Uryuu could tell from the look on his pale face that he'd lost a lot of blood; judging by the wound, it was probably inflicted by something silver.

And standing over both of them was an irate black-haired man with three jagged scars running the length of his right cheek. His eyes landed on Uryuu as he entered, his expression cold and stony as he sized up the valet.

"Who are you?" the angry fellow asked pointedly. Uryuu didn't bother looking up, instead kneeling at Ichigo's side to inspect his master's wound.

"Uryuu Ishida," he replied mechanically, uninterested in the black-haired human's ire, "I am the Count's valet. What happened here?" Ichigo, who was still conscious, grinned tiredly at him.

"I found him," he ground out hoarsely, "He got me good, but I made him pay for it." He chuckled weakly, although neither of the other two men smiled.

"I don't know what the hell is going on here," the other man piped up, "But I'd like an explanation. What were you doing out there? What happened to Rangiku?" Uryuu flashed the scarred man an impatient look.

"We were hunting the person who's been lurking around this house," he replied coldly, "It looks like he was after Miss Matsumoto." The black-haired man looked unimpressed.

"You expect me to just believe that?" he asked, crossing his arms, "All I've seen is the Count here dragging her in, unconscious."

"It's true," Ichigo panted, his eyes flashing a subtle gold, "I interrupted him and he stabbed me." And then: "Uryuu, where's Chad? I sent him to get you..."

"He's bringing the carriage down," Uryuu said shortly, "You interrupted the attacker... So the woman is alright?" Ichigo's eyes fell to the blonde lying prone in the floor.

"She'll be fine," he muttered darkly. This didn't seem to assuage the scarred man's fears.

"Are you serious?", the dark-haired man barked, trying to restrain the edge of hysteria in his voice, "She was lying out in the snow, in the dead of winter, for no conceivable reason, and now she's unconscious!" As his voice rose, though, the woman in question's eyes began to flutter. As he began to launch into a second rant, she brought a hand up to cover her eyes.

"Shuuhei," she groaned, "Keep it down..." The man named Shuuhei looked immediately chastised, not at all unlike a small, scolded puppy. Then, after realization finally dawned on him, he knelt down to Rangiku's side and took her hand.

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly, causing Uryuu to suddenly feel like he was watching something intimate. From the look on his face, it seemed that Ichigo was having the same thought. Either that, or he was on the verge of passing out from blood loss.

"Tired," Rangiku moaned, sitting up and holding her head, "What time is it? One of the shutters came loose last night, and then someone grabbed me..." Shuuhei cast a sharp glare at the two other men in the room.

"It wasn't him, was it?" he asked pointedly, drawing Rangiku's attention for the first time to the two newcomers. Her blue eyes widened as they focused on Ichigo and Uryuu.

"Oh, the Count!" she exclaimed, "What are you doing here?" Ichigo smiled weakly at her while Uryuu cast Shuuhei a smug look. The latter turned away, blushing and abashed.

"There was something lurking behind your house when we came by the other night," he said succinctly, "My driver noticed it." Rangiku blearily focused on him, nodding dumbly as she went.

"Don't worry," Ichigo continued, "I scared him off. But... you would do well to stay inside after dark and don't let anyone you don't know in." Rangiku rubbed her eyes in agreement, still not quite processing what was going on around her.

"Shuuhei," she finally muttered, "I don't think I'll be going to work today. I don't feel so well." Uryuu's sharp blue eyes turned to Shuuhei as he helped Rangiku lie back down.

"It would probably be best if you stayed with her until she's better," he addressed the other man, "Arm yourself, preferably with a silver weapon." Now the black-haired man turned to him with a look of confusion.

"What?" he asked skeptically, "Why silver? It's too soft..." Uryuu gave him a silencing look.  
"Just trust us on this," he said dismissively, "That's what you'll need to handle that thing." The scarred man said nothing, but his expression showed his displeasure.

"Chad is coming up the drive," Ichigo breathed, drawing the men's attention.

"How do you know that?" asked Shuuhei, "I don't hear anything." But sure enough, the other men turned to the door.

"No, he's there," Uryuu confirmed, stretching Ichigo's arm over his shoulder, "I hear him too." He hoisted the redhead to his feet and started dragging him toward the entrance. Before Shuuhei could protest again, the two were out the door and into the shadows of the front porch.

It was a bright early morning, the sky cleared of the day before's snow clouds. Ichigo wearily lifted his hand to shield his eyes; both their eyes and skin were extremely photosensitive. Even the glare from the snow hurt.

Chad was just pulling the carriage up and had only barely stopped the horses when they emerged from the house. The two men rushed to the carriage, Uryuu flinging the doors open and nearly throwing Ichigo inside. As soon as the door was shut behind him, Chad spurred the horses into action, sending them speeding up the hill, throwing showers of snow in their wake.

* * *

The house had been preternaturally quiet all morning.

As Orihime sat in the large, empty dining room and ate her morning porridge, something felt very odd to her. It felt as though a presence was missing, or the house was emptier than it normally would've been at this time of morning. Even though she rarely saw anyone before mid-morning and had never encountered anyone at breakfast, it still felt as though the whole house were eerily empty.

Just as she was about to get up and put away her bowl, she heard a commotion coming from the front foyer. She could hear Uryuu shouting orders and Nemu and Tatsuki's sleepy voices calling in response. Instead of cleaning her bowl, Orihime jumped to her feet and ran to see what the fuss was about.

She stopped short of the front hall, concealing herself behind the corner as she watched the scene unfold. Uryuu was commanding the other three household staff while he and Sado bore the Count's weight stretched between them. Tatsuki took one of his orders and nodded succinctly as she scurried off with Nemu in tow. Uryuu and Sado slowly followed her, careful not to jostle the Count's unconscious body.

Orihime watched, mortified, as they took him away. They were moving in the general direction of the chapel, if her memory served her. She fretted as they carried him out of sight, worried that she should follow, but also worried that she would be unwelcome. But her concern for the Count and what may have happened to him overrode her better judgment and she followed along at a distance anyway.

She had only followed the procession down two hallways when Uryuu turned and whispered something to Sado. The tall Spaniard relinquished the Count's limp body to the valet before turning and walking back the way he'd come, directly toward Orihime.

Orihime's eyes widened; how had they known she was there? No matter how it happened, she didn't want to be turned away. Without thinking, she dove into an alcove, hiding herself behind a large, barren urn. As she heard Sado's footsteps approach, her heart hammered in her ears; maybe he would just overlook her and pass right by?

Orihime had no such luck. The tall brunette stopped right before her alcove and looked down at her evenly. As she looked sheepishly up at him, she knew she was in trouble. She was grateful that he at least didn't look angry.

"This is no place for you, Miss Inoue," he rumbled gently, "Master Ichigo has been hurt and needs his rest." Orihime hung her head, blushing in shame.

"Can you tell me what happened to him, at least?" she asked quietly. The giant's expression softened a bit as he looked down at her.

"I'm sorry," he said with a shake of his shaggy head, "He can tell you himself when he gets up." Orihime kept her half-lidded eyes on the floor, peering in the direction they'd gone. There was a thin trail of bright red blood leading down the hall to where Uryuu and the Count were now. Orihime frowned a bit; he was bleeding heavily, but Sado was so sure he would be fine later.

The tall man hooked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate that Orihime should start heading back to her room. Orihime nodded sheepishly and slowly began trudging her way back down the hallway toward her room. Sado followed her, resembling nothing more threatening than a watchful puppy.

After some few minutes, they reached the door to her chambers. Sado stood at a respectful distance, opening the heavy door for her. She stepped inside and turned to face him, eyes swimming with questions.

"Miss Arisawa will be by for you in a bit," he said, turning to go back the way he came. Orihime watched him walk slowly down the hall until he disappeared around a corner. Sighing, she trailed back to her bed to sit and wait.

The message was clear enough. She was to stay in her room and wait.

* * *

The morning drug slowly by for Tatsuki.

First of all, there was Ichigo to attend to. The young lord had done a good job of hiding it, but he'd been wounded pretty badly. And as with any wound inflicted by a silver weapon, it refused stubbornly to stop bleeding.

It wasn't just the danger of him losing blood. No, that was the tip of the iceberg. Certainly it was dangerous; the loss of blood, if left untreated, could eventually kill him. But there was no real worry for that. They had a perfectly fine remedy on-hand to prevent it.

No, the truly dangerous part would come afterward, when they tried to feed him. He wouldn't be able to hunt on his own tonight, and he needed to feed in order to regain his strength. That was where the real danger lay, and Tatsuki knew that all too well. Oh, she and the rest of the staff would be fine; the only real threat would be to Orihime.

It was essential that Orihime not move around too much after dark. That would be about the time Ichigo would awaken, and about the time his healing would be complete. And Tatsuki would most likely be the one to keep her occupied. As long as she stayed in her room, everything would be fine.

As for Ichigo, preparations had already been made. As soon as Uryuu came through the door with him, Tatsuki and Nemu had sprung into action setting the family crypt up for him. A mound of freshly turned earth had been prepared, as well as a slab to lay him out on and a casket to seal him into for the rest of the day. When Uryuu finally arrived with him draped over his back, Tatsuki and Nemu immediately took his limp form and laid him out on the cold stone slab.

The two girls went to work, cutting away his shirt, retrieving bandages, and preparing the mud mixture. This was the earth Ichigo had been interred into when he was a baby, and it still had healing properties for him because of that connection. Even his father and the rest of his family kept some of it with them in Budapest; part of the reason they returned to their mountain estate once a year was to replenish their supply and reconnect with their burial place.

Once the dirt was mixed into paste, they slathered it into the wound, a wicked gash running down the length of his ribcage. It was at least as long as a human hand, and about half as wide as a finger. The blood still flowed freely from it, staunched only when Tatsuki finally stopped the wound with the mud pack. Nemu then bandaged it tightly and fastened the gauze around their master's waist.

The next part was left to Sado and Uryuu. The two stronger men lifted the redhead into his coffin then moved the heavy lid over the open top. They didn't nail it down or latch it into place; instead, they simply laid it into the fresh patch of newly turned earth and threw a few handfuls on top of it. When Ichigo awoke later that evening, he would simply push the lid away and emerge.

As the others prepared to leave and rest for the day, Tatsuki headed toward Orihime's room. She knew she had a long day ahead of her; as soon as the others awoke, she'd be tasked with babysitting both Orihime and Nemu while Sado and Uryuu went hunting.

She only hoped nothing went wrong.

* * *

Orihime had been gnawed by worry all day long. She knew making another attempt to see the Count would be futile while everyone was busily tending to him, so she decided to wait until later. Hopefully by early evening they would have relaxed some.

Alas, that was not to be. Tatsuki joined her by mid-morning and kept her so busy with diction, etiquette, and posture that she barely noticed the sun setting behind the trees. She drove her relentlessly, allowing her to stop only long enough to eat. And then, when it was finally dark, she dismissed Orihime to her room. That didn't mean she wasn't still watching her, though; on the contrary, Orihime was well aware that Tatsuki was just in the room next to hers and would hear her if she tried to leave.

She couldn't really blame Tatsuki for her sharp behavior today, though. She knew the other girl was worried about her master; the whole house was, she was sure. And it was certainly in Orihime's nature to worry for those she cared about. To her, the entire estate had a pall over it this morning, and it would only be lifted once she saw with her own eyes that the Count was truly going to be alright.

As such, she bode her time, waiting patiently for the house to grow quiet and settle. Well after dark, she heard the front doors of the great hall open and close. She figured someone had gone out for something, as the carriage soon pulled out of its shelter and went rattling down the drive. Curiously, Orihime peered out the window, wondering where the men below were heading to. Were they going to find a doctor?

She fretted for what seemed like an eternity, lying back on the bed and trying to outwait sleep and Tatsuki both. Surely she would fall asleep soon? But if the men were going out for something, wouldn't she be likely to wait up for them?

Orihime's dilemma plagued her until she lost all track of time. Before she knew what was happening, she heard the slam of doors and the sound of horses rebelling coming from the courtyard. Orihime wasn't exactly sure when she'd fallen asleep, but now that she was awake and there was a commotion downstairs, this was her chance to sneak over to the Count's quarters to see if he was there and really alright.

She slowly pushed open the door and looked left, then right. The hallway was clear, although the commotion was still coming from the front hall. Orihime had a vague idea of where the Count's rooms lay, and she figured that was the best place to start looking for him. If he didn't happen to be there, she could always check the chapel; they had been going in that general direction earlier.

She crept around the landing overlooking the great hall, being careful to keep down and out of sight. The residents of the house, minus the Count, seemed to be dealing with an emergency with the horses and completely oblivious to anything Orihime might be doing.

Silently, she sneaked into the darkened hallway leading to the Count's chambers. It was cold and damp, the only light shining in through the starlit sky outside. Orihime could still hardly believe how drafty the castle was and how the residents didn't seem to notice. It was no great surprise, then, when their suite was much more barren and colder than hers.

She shivered as she made her way down the hall, looking left to right and back again as she searched for the Count's chamber. She figured it would be a grand room, the master suite, and should be easy to recognize. And in due course, she wasn't disappointed.

The door to his room was large and ornately carved, made of heavy oak and adorned with gold fixtures. The arch above it was made of heavy stone, possibly hewn from the surrounding mountainsides. It was absolutely ancient and intimidating and fitting of the rest of the castle.

Hesitantly, Orihime rested one hand on the cool wood. She took a deep breath, hesitant of what she might find on the other side. Her imagination started to take hold as she pictured the Count, tousled and shirtless, sleeping in his bed. Before the vision could fully form, Orihime shook her head, reminding herself that she was there for something important. She didn't have time to be distracted!

Squeezing her eyes shut, she pushed hard on the door, causing it to swing inward. After several long moments, Orihime released the breath she'd been holding and slowly opened her eyes. As she stepped inside and took in the starlit room, she could barely believe her eyes.

The Count wasn't there.

Orihime's brows puckered. She was sure he'd be in his bed by now. As she moved toward the center of the room, and the large, elaborately carved wooden bed, she hardly registered the sound of the door swinging closed. The only thing that alerted her that something had happened was the sound of the heavy wooden slab sealing the portal she'd just come through.

Orihime jumped in place, turning to see the shut door. The room was still empty, so she couldn't fathom how it would have shut by itself. As she stood there contemplating this apparent paradox, she didn't notice the movement in the shadows of the room. It was subtle at first, a breeze shifting the gauzy curtains on the bed and a slight change in air pressure.

And if she had turned around just then, she would've seen the two burning golden embers right behind her.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Nine  
**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness, sexual situations, religious topics. Should be read with the lights off.  
**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

**Author's Note:** This chapter is a little shorter than most, but I wanted to make the next chapter a more cohesive unit! I hope the content makes up for it!

* * *

The horses whinnied and neighed, nostrils flaring as their hooves pounded the rocky dirt of the courtyard. It took all of Sado's considerable strength just to hold onto their reigns. They were spooked, and rightfully so. Whatever had wounded their master the night before had now also struck his horses.

All the household staff had rushed into the courtyard to help subdue the poor beasts, but Nemu's unnaturalness had only made the situation worse. Once the horses caught scent of her, they bucked and chomped at their bits, foaming uncontrollably. She was promptly sent to wait just on the other side of the door.

So it came to be that only Sado, Uryuu, and Tatsuki tended the horses, trying to cajole them into some semblance of cooperation. It was no easy task, seeing as how the wound one had suffered to his flank was making the other one just as wild as if he'd been bitten himself. Sado himself almost took a hoof to the face a couple times, and Uryuu had nearly been trampled.

Tatsuki had been tasked with tending the prey, which was securely roped down in the back of the carriage. They weren't quite unconscious, and from the looks of them, they were an old man, but he sure could kick when he wanted to. Tatsuki had to forcibly remind herself that breaking his legs might indirectly cause him to lose blood or die, and that would negate the entire point of their trip; if it weren't for that fact, she probably would've already simply hurt him grievously. Otherwise, his vigor was at least a good sign.

It was a good several minutes before the horses were calm enough to lead to their stables. When Sado was finally able to lead them away, the quiet gave both Uryuu and Tatsuki pause to think.

"Miss Arisawa," Uryuu said slowly, brow furrowed as though something had just occurred to him, "You were watching Miss Inoue, were you not?" Tatsuki raised an eyebrow as she peered at her companion.

"Yes?" she responded, "She's in her room. What of it?" The look of concentration on Uryuu's face deepened.

"I thought I caught her scent a few moments ago," he said, looking in the direction of her room, "Perhaps my senses are playing tricks on me, but you should check on her just to be sure."

But by the time the words had left Uryuu's mouth, Tatsuki was already halfway up the grand staircase in the front hall.

* * *

The only sounds in the room were those of breathing. There were the light, half-held breaths that Orihime was trying to keep as quiet as possible, and then there was another set. The other breaths were deep and husky, as though they were coming through the mouth. They were colored with a little shudder that made a tingle race up Orihime's spine. She couldn't help but think it sounded hungry and primal and laced with desire. Someone else was in the room with her, and they were close by.

A brush against her back caused her to startle. It was feather-light and cool, causing gooseflesh to rise on her arm. It seemed to be trying to pass through her long auburn locks, sifting them between fingers and letting them fall against her back again.

"H-Hello?" she asked timidly, "Who's there?" She half-expected to receive no answer at all save for the rustle of wind through curtains. What she got instead shocked her.

**"It's me,"** a raspy, yet oddly familiar voice whispered. Even though she hadn't felt a presence behind her at all, the voice had been right in her ear, as though its owner was standing right behind her.

"C-Count, is that you?" Orihime nervously responded, not daring to turn around. A chill had settled along her spine, and as odd as it sounded, she was certain it was from him. In reply, a pair of ghostly arms snaked around her midsection. Before she could even think of moving away, they tightened into steel-like bonds, pulling her hard against the solid man behind her.

He was cool and unyielding, his body solid as a rock. Orihime felt heat rush to her face as his hands moved, pressing her back tighter against him. The soft curve of her bottom had managed to find a firm protrusion inside his trousers, and as she squirmed it rolled against her. Orihime wanted to cover her eyes when she realized exactly what it was. The Count simply hissed his approval into her ear.

**"Don't be afraid,"** he whispered, one hand trailing toward the collar of her night shrift. Almost immediately, as if in response to his words, the fear Orihime had felt vanished. In its place was a numbness and a vague sense of anticipation - the same feeling from her dreams.

His cold hand pulled the tie loose from her shrift and tugged it down, revealing a large, pendulous breast with one hard, pink nipple to the chill night air. At the sound of her whimper of protest against the cold, the Count lowered his lips to the junction of her shoulder and neck and began to suck gently. He groaned into her skin, rolling and tugging the tightly furled bud between his fingers; whatever he was doing to her, Orihime felt as if she were already in Heaven.

Time seemed to blur to her, almost like the time she'd drunk that wine with him. She hardly registered what he was doing anymore; all she knew was that she didn't want it to stop. Several moments, or perhaps even minutes passed like this in hazy bliss, before she noticed a chill creeping up her legs - it dawned on her that the Count was pulling up her skirt. Before she could protest, his hand had already slid between her thighs, moving unfettered towards her warm, sticky center.

Orihime tried weakly to wriggle away, inadvertently pushing herself firmly against his erection once again. He hissed his disapproval, his fingers tightening around her nipple and holding her still. His grip was iron-like and unbreakable, and even had Orihime been in possession of all her faculties, she wouldn't have been able to move him.

**"I thought this was what you wanted,"** he rasped against her ear, his voice hot and heavy with desire, **"Isn't this what you've been dreaming of? Orihime..." **

Orihime felt her blood chill at his observation. She didn't tell him, hadn't said anything to anyone else, hadn't even let on about those dreams and feelings. Had the priest betrayed her confidence? Even though her mind was sluggish, she could still feel mortification rush through her veins.

"No..." she murmured quietly, the embarrassment heavy in her voice. He ignored her protest soundly, cool fingers playing against her moist slit.

As his fingers subtly probed further, another feeling entered Orihime's field of perception. There was a dull prick on her neck, right where the Count had been licking and sucking for the past several minutes. She winced at the tiny pinpricks before the fuzzy, faint feeling overwhelmed her entirely. She hardly knew which way was up any longer, only that she was leaning against the Count for support and that he now had free range of her body. It was all she could do to respond to him with a small, shuddering gasp while he continued to lap greedily at her neck.

Orihime hardly knew how long this continued, the Count playing both along her bare neck and the apex of her thighs. Eventually, though, she was vaguely aware of the sounds of shouting and lights being brought into view. Someone grabbed her by the shoulders and drug her away from the Count; she was simply too bleary to protest, even if she had wanted to. There were then screams and rapid motion and after what seemed like an eternity without the Count's presence, Orihime felt herself being carried elsewhere. And it was at that point that she lost all consciousness.

* * *

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH-!"

"Pin his arms!"

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH-!"

"Sado, take him from behind! Nemu, get the water!"

The smell was insufferable. That was the first thing to make it through his addled brain. He was suffocating, and he couldn't remove the noxious source of his discomfort. Someone had slung a strand of those disgusting white cloves around his neck and was pinning his arms back to keep him from removing it.

There was a splash of freezing water against Ichigo's skin, bringing him fully back to consciousness. His mouth had been open, mid-scream, when it hit, causing him to sputter at the fluid intruding into his mouth and airway. As if the awful garlic wasn't enough, now they were throwing water on him as well.

"Nemu," he heard a stern voice order from behind him, "Strike him." Before Ichigo could protest that it was unnecessary, he heard his servant acquiesce.

"Yes, master," she said quietly. She drew back one dainty fist and then let it fly squarely at Ichigo's jaw. It impacted like a runaway carriage.

"S-Stop!" he squawked, sounding decidedly unmanly. Then again, who could blame him? He was soaked to the bone, pinned down, suffocating from that disgusting garlic, and felt like he'd just been trampled by a pack of wild horses.

"One more time, Nemu," he heard Uryuu coolly order. At this point, he knew his valet was just doing it to spite him; for what, he had no clue.

"Yes, master," Nemu replied once more before letting her fist fly. This time the impact hurt less, but that was mostly because he was prepared for it.

"You may remove the garlic now, Nemu," Uryuu further ordered her, causing Ichigo to sigh with relief when the disgusting strand was lifted from around his neck.

"I don't suppose you recall what you were just doing, do you, Kurosaki?" Uryuu asked, adjusting his monocle. Ichigo knew he must be in trouble if his butler was using his family name only. But now that the overwhelming garlic was gone, he could smell again - and the room smelled strongly of one person.

"It smells like Miss Inoue in here," Ichigo quietly observed to himself, eyebrows furrowing.

"I imagine it does," Uryuu snorted. A strong pair of arms released Ichigo, allowing him to slump to the floor. His confusion was slowly lifting as he remembered how he'd just been interrupted with her.

"Oh god," he breathed, leaning forward and holding his head in his hands. He could still taste her on his tongue and smell her on his hands. Worse yet, he couldn't exactly bring himself to feel disgusted with his senses; she tasted divine and the smell was still on the edge of arousing him. He hadn't completely slaked his thirst, either. He still wanted more.

"Drink," Uryuu suddenly commanded, causing Ichigo to wearily raise his head. The valet casually tossed an old man, hands and feet bound and head covered, at Ichigo's knees.

"Where's Miss Inoue?" Ichigo demanded hoarsely. The old man didn't tempt him in the least. The larger part of him wanted to see for himself that Orihime was alright, that he hadn't done anything irrevocable to her. But there was another part, a very vocal part, that protested at the idea of exchanging such a luscious meal for the withered old prune squirming before him on the floor.

"I imagine Miss Arisawa has already taken her to her quarters," the incensed valet sniffed, "I doubt you want to deal with her right now." Ichigo's pale cheeks colored in shame. "In any case, you are not to see her until you've fed," Uryuu continued as Ichigo hung his head, "Do you understand?"

"Yes," Ichigo muttered sourly. He picked the old man up roughly by his shoulders and, ignoring his weak protests, clamped onto his neck harder than he had any reason to.

The more he drank, the more miserable he became. His senses slowly came back to him, having been drained away by the wound, the loss of blood, and the intoxication of being so close to Orihime and finally tasting her sweet blood. The disgust he knew he'd feel finally came back to him full-force as he drained the old man of his life. He hadn't wanted to reveal himself to her like that. He hadn't wanted to molest her, either. He felt like quite possibly the greatest cad in the world at the moment.

Hardly realizing it, he finished the old man off and let the slowly cooling cadaver slide to the floor. Sensing he had finally met his demise, Uryuu nodded to Nemu, who relieved Ichigo of the remains. Soon, the body was gone from the room, along with the maid. No one asked what would happen to it.

Ichigo stretched his fingers, clenching and unclenching his fists as he felt his vitality return. Finally, after the new blood had adequately begun flowing through his system, he lifted his eyes to Uryuu. His pitiful, heartbroken gaze was met with his valet's stony one. If it was at all possible, it made him feel worse yet.

"May I see her now?"

* * *

Tatsuki knew her face could scare the devil himself at the moment. She really couldn't bring herself to care, either.

She knew it wasn't Ichigo's fault. It was a quirk, an accident of nature that had caused his peculiar affliction. Logically, she _knew_ it wasn't entirely his fault.

But she also really couldn't blame Orihime, either. Yes, she had obviously snuck out of her room when she had been told not to. But Tatsuki knew better than anyone how worried she'd been over Ichigo all day. As much as she hated it, keeping her friend in the dark had seemed like the best option at the time.

And now look at where it had gotten them.

Tatsuki flopped down on the bed beside her charge, exhaling a sigh as she did so. Orihime was still unconscious, since the Count had put her into a deep swoon while he fed. While she was out, her wound had already closed - a benefit of vampire saliva, as Tatsuki had seen many times before - and Tatsuki had taken the opportunity to redress her. Not before she'd given her a quick examination, however.

She had sighed with relief when she found that Ichigo hadn't gotten very far with her. The last thing she wanted was for her to wind up like herself or Nemu - or worse, simply dead from blood loss.

At length, Tatsuki's charge began to stir. The redhead moaned and made to sit up before Tatsuki stopped her, pushing her back against the plush bedding.

"Don't," she ordered firmly, "You've lost a lot of blood." Her eyebrows furrowed; she fervently hoped Orihime didn't remember anything. The less she knew about their lifestyle, the better. Her hopes were dashed a second later as Orihime began to speak.

"Where is the Count?" she asked quietly, "He was... on my neck... and down below..." A light blush crept over her face as she lifted a hand to feel where she'd been bitten. "He seemed... different." Tatsuki's face was grave.

"He wasn't himself," she said sternly, "You should've stayed in your room, Orihime. You were never meant to see that side of him." Orihime's eyes widened at this statement. Tatsuki knew she had to be confused. With a sigh, she looked over at the redhead and gave her a piteous look.

"I didn't want to do this," Tatsuki said quietly, "But it looks like you know our secret now. I'm going to tell you about us. About all of us."


	10. Chapter Ten

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Ten  
**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness, religious topics, sexual situations. Should be read with the lights off.  
**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

**Author's Note:** We're nearing the climax of the story! There's a lot of background in this chapter and I hope it doesn't come off as too convoluted or trite. Anyway, I hope you'll all enjoy this chapter as well!

* * *

Orihime sat watching the girl on the edge of her bed, enrapt. Tatsuki had cast her several nervous looks already and was doing so now, as well. The black-haired girl sighed and grasped the skirt of her dress until her knuckles turned white.

"Tatsuki?" Orihime asked, worry in her voice, "What... What's going on? What do you mean, the truth about you? You're... You're just Tatsuki, right?" When her friend refused to meet her eyes, Orihime sat up on her elbows to get a better look at her; she still felt faint, but after a few moments, she regained her equilibrium.

"No," Tatsuki finally answered, turning to face Orihime with a pained expression, "Orihime, the truth is... you're the only human being in this house." Orihime blinked for several seconds before painting on a nervous smile.

"D-Don't be silly, Tatsuki," she chided nervously, "You're just as human as anybody." As much as Orihime had already had her doubts, she truly wanted to believe this. But one look at Tatsuki's stern expression was enough to tell her she didn't actually know the truth.

"No, I'm not," she said softly, "Orihime, before I tell you this, I need you to understand - none of us want you to come to any harm." Orihime looked at Tatsuki curiously, but already she felt her apprehension growing.

"Okay..." she said skeptically. Tatsuki simply gave her a piteous look.

"All the men in this house," Tatsuki finally said, nearly blurting the words out in her nervousness, "All of them are vampires."

Orihime felt her blood run cold. Of course she had heard the stories from the old women in the village, of corpses that rise from the grave after three days and feed on the flesh of the living. And while she'd occasionally entertained notions of these stories being true, they had always taken a backseat to her daily life. In a way, it occurred to her that when she was finally confronted with something truly phenomenal, the fact that she would miss it so spectacularly was heavily ironic.

Then there was the fact that none of these men, including the Count of which she had found herself so enamored, were likely to have souls. After all, wasn't vampirism supposed to be the result of the possession of a corpse by a demon? But as far as that went, none of them had hairy palms or smelled like a rotting corpse, either, so how would she really be able to tell?

But beyond that, did that mean everything she'd seen and experienced while she was here had been a lie? She had no way of knowing exactly what power the Count literally had over her, and it was clear from their last encounter that he had the ability to make her unable to resist him. Had he been bewitching her, making her think impure things and leading her astray this whole time? How could she trust that her mind was her own around him now?

"Orihime?" Tatsuki finally called her back to her senses, "Are you okay?" Orihime stared at her blankly for a moment before a guilty look washed over her face.

"Y-Yeah, I'm... I'm fine," she lied pitifully, before blurting out the first thing to cross her mind, "Does this mean the Count was trying to steal my soul?"

Tatsuki stared at her wide-eyes for a second before her eyebrows puckered together.

"I should've known," she sighed, before casting Orihime a nervous look again, "No, he doesn't want your soul. And your rosary won't do anything to him. He's not religious."

This truly left Orihime puzzled. How could someone _not_ be religious? Everything in the whole world was created by God in some capacity, even bloodthirsty vampires, she supposed - although those were probably created more by Satan himself, but he was also created by God.

"But... Why not?" she asked, confused, "Aren't... Aren't vampires agents of Satan?" Tatsuki shook her head.

"If they are, I've never met him," she said, "And I've met a lot of vampires." This brought another question to Orihime's mind.

"But what about the priest here?" she asked sheepishly. Tatsuki gave her a strange look.

"What priest?" the black-haired girl asked, "You've met everyone here." Orihime's face momentarily took on a pained look, but she hid it as best she could.

"The... The priest I gave my confession to," she whispered, "That day in the chapel." Tatsuki's eyebrows went up into her hairline. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out the first thought to cross her mind.

"The only person in the chapel that day was Ichigo," she thought out loud. As soon as she said it, she regretted it. The look on Orihime's face said everything - whatever she'd had to confess, _he'd_ been the one to hear it. But she quickly collected herself, even though her little hands were shaking, and pushed on with her questions.

"You're not a vampire, though," she noted quietly, "From what you said before..." Tatsuki shook her head, giving her a stern look.

"No," she answered succinctly, "I'm not. I'm something different entirely. And Nemu isn't like any of us." Orihime continued to cast confused looks in Tatsuki's direction, so she continued on.

"I'll tell you about me," she finally said, "It'll probably help explain some of the things that have been happening here."

* * *

Tatsuki had been with the Kurosaki family since the day she was born, over eighteen years ago. And in some ways, she had always been treated just like a member of the family.

Her mother had been a young Parisian noble and something of a libertine. Being young and free-spirited, she'd had many lovers, human and vampire alike, and little interest in settling down with any proper vampire lord, although many had made her offers. And finally, after a few years of this, she found herself with child.

Seeing as the father was certainly human, the lady was sent to stay with the Kurosaki family, who were residing in Budapest at the time. As soon as the half-breed child was delivered in private, the young mother went back to her family. Tatsuki heard some years later that she'd married some vampire noble or other, although it didn't have much impact on her life either way.

Of course, the Kurosaki family had their own motives as well. While most vampire clans wouldn't bother with a half-breed bastard, the Marquis and Marquise had other ideas. Since her mother was of good stock, there was no reason to reject her outright. At best, Tatsuki could grow to adulthood just in time to marry their adolescent son, who was a perpetual disappointment to the Marquis in romantic matters. At that point, she could be made into a full vampire and officially join the family.

This was the plan for Tatsuki's life. She hardly resented it; the Kurosakis were kind enough, she never wanted for material things or affection, and she was given a first-rate education. She was groomed to be a Countess, although her pursuits mostly lay in more masculine areas like hunting and horseriding. Even those were indulged from time to time when the Marquis and Marquise thought she was doing well enough in her studies.

As for her betrothed, he did well enough. Ichigo had been a good sport about it for as long as Tatsuki could remember. Oh, she was sure he'd resented being engaged to a baby at some point, but that was long before Tatsuki was conscious of it. As it turned out, though, he became more of a brother and confidant than a lover. It made no difference to her; marriages weren't built on love, after all, and there was nothing to be ungrateful about in what they were giving her.

Ichigo aged much slower than her, though; in her earliest memories, he was a young, awkward teenager, still struggling with the last remnants of puberty. Soon she was old enough to go riding with him, but he'd hardly changed at all. And eventually, her own growth had caught up to his, putting them at roughly the same age physically. It wouldn't be much longer until they could be married and she could become a full-blooded vampire.

Fate, however, had other plans.

For various reasons which had since been forgotten, Ichigo hadn't been able to feed in over a week. Tatsuki, genuinely worried for her friend, had decided to call on him in his quarters; although she knew he would refuse any offer she made to hunt for him, she could at least keep him company until Uryuu or Sado returned with his meal. What she found when she arrived, however, was not the Ichigo she had come to know.

His eyes were wild, the whites filled with black ichor and the irises completely golden. He moved more gracefully than she had ever seen him, with all the deadly precision of a hunting hound. His voice was distorted as though he were underwater. And most prominent of all, the fangs which usually remained hidden above his gumline had descended, protruding down over his bottom lip. This Ichigo was feral, operating solely on raw instinct and base desire.

Later, they would all come to find that these instincts of his were decidedly warped. Most vampires, when they became hungry enough, would revert to a similar state, interested in feeding and nothing else. Some would shut down completely, hibernating until a servant brought a fresh meal. But for some reason, Ichigo functioned differently. Instead of just drinking, he had a secondary desire; the scent of virgin blood caused him to become deliriously aroused.

In truth, this trait was quite destructive, not only for any virgins Ichigo might encounter, but for Ichigo himself. It virtually assured that any human woman he met that could be a likely candidate for vampirehood would be robbed of any chance of that, should he get too close.

This was the case with Tatsuki, as well. He was much faster than she, and much stronger. She had never been bitten before, and she had never experienced a bite-induced swoon before, either. Before she had any idea what was happening, she was unconscious.

The next thing Tatsuki knew, she was waking in her own bed in her night dress. Her tattered and bloodied clothes had been discarded nearby, a visible indication of what had happened. She was light-headed and hurt all over, especially between her legs. It only took a few moments for her to register what had happened, the shock slowly spreading across her features.

Ichigo's mother and sisters were there when she awoke, monitoring her condition and tending her wounds. The piteous looks they gave her made her want to cry at the same time as they made her want to hit something, preferably something Ichigo-shaped.

It took her a while to forgive her friend. In fact, Tatsuki wasn't entirely sure she had forgiven him yet, a whole year later. Yes, she knew he had a problem that he had no control over, and she knew he suffered for it. But that wouldn't bring her virginity back, and that wouldn't make her a full-fledged vampire. Nothing would now, and Ichigo knew this; what Tatsuki had planned for her entire life was now gone.

The Kurosakis were kind enough to her for it. Knowing now that she'd be permanently stranded with a mortal lifespan and unable to enter their family once and for all, they still provided for her. Like Sado and Uryuu, she was made a servant, but it was mostly in name only. Yes, she was head of the household staff, but the hired human help did most of the work in the house in Budapest. Really, although it didn't compare to what she could've had, it wasn't bad, either.

As for Ichigo, after initially rushing to her room to apologize, he avoided her for a while. After a fortnight of this, Tatsuki had had enough and stomped into his room, swearing and bludgeoning him about the head. As it turned out, he was mortified by what he'd done, and afraid he'd do it again. His way of dealing with it had been to avoid all of his female friends and family, and not just Tatsuki.

As it turned out, avoiding the problem was just what Ichigo intended to do. After his father had sent him to several specialists, and they'd finally figured out what was wrong with him, he had no desire to risk another attack. His father's solution had been to find him a wife as soon as possible, but Ichigo was understandably averse to this proposition. So instead of working to fix his problem, or addressing it in any way, Ichigo simply ran away, back to the family's mountain home.

While Ichigo claimed this was mostly to protect his sisters - and Tatsuki recognized it as a valid point - Tatsuki mostly saw it as pure cowardice. Not only was Ichigo running away from his father's insistence that he marry as soon as possible, but he was running away from his problems. Tatsuki resented this more than she could ever express; she wasn't allowed to run away from what had happened, so why should Ichigo get that luxury?

That was why she'd been so insistent that Orihime stay in the first place, even when Uryuu had wanted her to go. She knew it was wrong to put her new friend in such a dangerous position, and she felt immensely sorry for it. She thought she and the others could keep things under control, and with the exception of two close calls, they fairly well had. But she also knew that Ichigo wasn't going to address his problems without being forced to, and this was a damn sight better than shoving him into a marriage neither he nor the Kuchiki heiress wanted.

But that also brought them to where they were today, with a shell-shocked Orihime sitting in her bed, listening enrapt to Tatsuki's story.

* * *

"I'll understand if you want to go back," Tatsuki sighed, hanging her head. Much to her surprise, Orihime didn't yell or hit her or anything like that. Instead, she put a trembling hand on Tatsuki's shoulder. When the black haired girl looked up, she saw her friend's eyes swimming with unshed tears.

"Ta-Tatsuki," Orihime sniffled, "That's... That's so sad!"

Tatsuki was dumbfounded. No one had ever come right out and shown her pure pity before. Yes, Ichigo's family had been understanding enough and kind enough, but none of them had ever come right out and said that what had happened to her was sad or awful. In truth, Tatsuki felt a little gratitude for Orihime's concern. All she showed to the other girl, however, was a simple hair ruffle.

"It's alright," she said quietly, "I'll live. You don't need to worry about me." Orihime seemed to be thinking for a moment before looking back up to Tatsuki sheepishly.

"So that's why the Count didn't want to get married," she observed, "Maybe... Maybe he doesn't want to marry anyone but you?" Tatsuki couldn't help but notice the light blush spreading across Orihime's cheeks. Part of her wanted to burst out laughing; after hearing all this horrible stuff, Orihime was apparently worried that she'd intruded on someone else's relationship.

"No," Tatsuki said warmly, "That's not the case at all. He's too chicken to even look me in the eye now most days, let alone want to marry me." Orihime's pout told her that she didn't believe that assessment, though.

"But Tatsuki!" she protested, "That might just mean he's nervous because he likes you! When Mr. Hisagi used to call on Rangiku, he couldn't look her in the eye, either!" Tatsuki snorted with repressed laughter; it was an odd feeling, like she was holding back tears with her laughter.

"No, Orihime," she finally said, "I grew up with him, remember? He doesn't think that way about me." Orihime gave her something of a sad look, but didn't press the issue any further.

"Do you think I should leave?" Orihime asked quietly after some moments of silence, "It might... It might not be alright for me to stay here anymore..." Tatsuki's eyes softened as she regarded her new friend.

"I don't know, Orihime," she answered honestly, "That's between you and Ichigo. If I had my way, you'd stay with us forever." She looked away as the words left her mouth, feeling a bit shy after having admitted it out loud. She didn't notice the look of discomfort that crossed Orihime's face at her sentiment.

"I don't... I don't know, Tatsuki," she whispered.

Before Tatsuki could reply, though, there came a heavy knock on the door. Both girls turned to look at the heavy wooden slab warily, as though it might jump off the frame and bite them at any second. After a few more seconds with no response, a voice came from the other side of the door.

"Tatsuki? Can I come in?"

Tatsuki's expression turned sour. What the devil did _he_ want? She expected he'd be here sooner or later to apologize, but she wasn't sure if she was ready to leave Orihime alone with him just yet.

"Have you fed yet?" she replied sternly, hoping Uryuu hadn't been stupid enough to let him loose without feeding first. He seemed to take the hint, because there was an awkward shuffle behind the door for a few seconds before his uncomfortable answer.

"Yeah..."

"Then yes, you can come in," Tatsuki said imperiously. She noticed Orihime draw her knees up to her chin as Ichigo entered, huddling beneath her comforters. Ichigo himself was a bedraggled mess, hair sticking out at odd angles, clothes askew, and eyes bloodshot red. Tatsuki couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him so disheveled and clearly distressed.

"May I... May I speak with Miss Inoue alone?" he asked hoarsely. Tatsuki cast Orihime a glance to measure her response. The redheaded girl looked a little afraid, but as soon as she saw Tatsuki's curious face, she nodded shyly to her.

"I suppose so," she said, rising and smoothing out her skirts, "Orihime, if you need me, I'll be right outside." Orihime nodded silently as she watched Tatsuki go.

As soon as Tatsuki had gone, Orihime watched trepidatiously as the Count approached her bed. He never took his eyes off her, his pained expression gnawing at her. Part of Orihime wanted to embrace him and reassure him, but the other part didn't dare. As soon as he reached her bedside, he dropped to his knees and hung his head.

"I know I have no right to ask your forgiveness," he began, speaking to the floor, "But I still want you to know how utterly sorry I am." Orihime felt her heart squeeze painfully in her chest. She knew she should forgive him, both as a Christian and as a friend. But the words stuck in her throat; she was afraid.

"Count," she finally addressed him softly, "Is it true? Everything Tatsuki told me?" He lifted his face to her, small streaks of water lining his cheeks.

"Tatsuki wouldn't lie to you," he said, his voice rough. Then, after a moment, he spoke again. "Did she tell you all about us?" Orihime nodded.

"She said... you have to drink blood to live," she whispered, "That you're a vampire. And... And I know you listened to my confession." The Count flinched at hearing her come right out and say it, but he didn't look away.

"Do you hate us?" he finally asked, "Do you hate _me_?" Orihime felt tears prickle the corners of her eyes.

"I don't know," she answered, holding back a sob, "How can I... How can I trust you again? Were you... Were you the one who's been preying on our village?" The Count looked shocked for a moment. Orihime briefly wondered if it was because he didn't know about the deaths at all, or if it was because he'd been caught.

"Preying on?" he asked, eyes scrunched, "He's killed in my village?" Orihime's expression grew puzzled.

"He?" she asked, "Something has been killing people in that village for years! My brother-!" The tears that had threatened to escape just a moment ago were now overflowing, running down her cheeks in little rivers. She choked down a sob as the Count continued staring at her in agonized confusion.

"I'm sorry, Miss Inoue," he said quietly, "This is my family's land. I should never have allowed anyone else to hunt on it. We always hunt outside of our territory, unless there's an overpopulation problem." Orihime simply stared at him, face full of pain.

"Listen to yourself," she sobbed, covering her face with her hands, "You're talking about people like they're... they're deer or rabbits! Even if you didn't kill my brother, the others you've killed might have had brothers or sisters, too! It's... It's wrong!" If she had been looking, she'd have seen the Count flinch.

"Miss Inoue," he said softly, reaching up and pulling her hands away from her wet face, "We can't help what we are. This is how we have to live. I can never ask you to accept it, but... please understand that it's not out of maliciousness. It's out of necessity." Orihime looked into his eyes; they were earnest and pleading. No matter what kind of monster he might have been, the Count was still a man and he still sought her approval. She bit her bottom lip as she thought her next words over carefully.

"Do you _have_ to kill?" she asked softly, "Can't you only take a little?" A flicker of grief passed over his face.

"It's very difficult to stop, once it's begun," he answered, "And there's always the risk of leaving a witness." Orihime nodded quietly, giving him a sniffle as she did.

"Would you try? Please? For me?" The Count looked briefly pained before opening his mouth again.

"I... can try," he said, flinching. But when the corners of Orihime's mouth tugged up, his expression eased into an awkward smile.

"Thank you," she said, tugging the hands that were holding her closer to her chest. And after another few moments of looking at them, she spoke quietly again. "I'll stay," she whispered, "Until the end of the month, to meet your father. I did agree to it, a-and I want to help you."

And a tiny, foolish part of her was hoping that just maybe, she could help the Count change his ways.

But if the Count noticed any of that, he didn't show it. Instead, his eyes lit up with happiness.

"Thank you," he said breathlessly, "You don't know how much that means to me. Thank you."  
As soon as the words had left his mouth, their eyes met. Orihime felt something peculiar then; as though she wanted to lean forward and meet his lips. This wasn't anything she could remember feeling before, either. Her eyelids fluttered over her eyes, lowering until the lashes almost rested on her cheeks. Maybe it was the strong outpouring of emotion on his part, but something made her just want to kiss the Count. And from the slight blush on his pale cheeks, she thought it a good guess that he wanted the same.

Before their lips could meet, however, the shuffle of feet echoed briefly down the corridor before Orihime's room. Her door was slung open with enough force to bang it loudly against the opposite wall. Both Orihime and the Count jumped apart, startled, as Uryuu stood in the doorway, gasping for breath.

"Sire," he panted, "He's here!" The Count regarded him with a look of confusion for a moment before speaking.

"Who?" he asked bluntly. Uryuu grimaced.

"Your father," he said with considerably less cool than usual, "He's a week early! His carriage just pulled into the courtyard!"


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Eleven

**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness, religious topics. Should be read with the lights off.

**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

* * *

As soon as the announcement came, Ichigo was shuffled off to his chambers, Uryuu hot on his heels. He still looked like an unpresentable mess, and he would want to answer as few of his father's intrusive questions as possible.

Likewise, Tatsuki had flown into Orihime's room upon hearing the commotion. As soon as the door was shut behind the boys, she sprung into action, practically ripping Orihime's night shrift off and throwing her into something more presentable. Before she knew it, Tatsuki was lacing her into her corset, pulling the now-familiar strings into place.

"Tatsuki," Orihime whispered nervously, "While you were out of the room, something strange happened." Her voice trembled with excitement and fear. She wanted her friend's opinion about this, even though she wasn't entirely sure how appropriate it was of her to ask.

"What?" the black-haired girl asked, "Ichigo didn't do anything weird, did he?" Her tone of voice was grave, so Orihime didn't want to say the wrong thing and get Ichigo into any more trouble than he already was.

"H-He..." she started, feeling the blush creep up her neck, "Just before Mr. Ishida came in, he almost k-k-kissed me!" She heard Tatsuki repress a laugh behind her before continuing on.

"I'm serious!" she chided, "I felt funny! My heart beat very fast as though I had been running, and I felt a little light-headed! You don't... You don't think he can control my mind, do you?" Tatsuki lost the battle with her laughter, causing Orihime to pout.

"No, Orihime," the older girl said patiently, "He can make you swoon if he's going to feed on you, but that's a lot different. Your heart would slow down instead of speeding up. You were probably just excited."

The thought made Orihime nervous. Before, she might have entertained the fanciful notion that the Count might take a real liking to her and actually propose to her. But now she wasn't sure how to feel about that. She knew if they were married, she'd be expected to become a vampire like him; Tatsuki's story had shown her how little half-breed children were desired, so a human wife was probably out of the question. And for as much as she was attracted to him, Orihime didn't know that she'd ever be able to give up her humanity, and possibly her very soul, for him.

"O-Oh," she finally muttered, "So it's... normal?" That somehow wasn't any less embarrassing.

"Completely normal," Tatsuki reassured her, "Alright, that's done. Let's get you into your gown and do your hair."

Orihime nodded dumbly. Whatever was about to happen, she wanted to make a good impression on the Marquis.

* * *

"Ichigo, my boy!"

The 'boy' in question flinched as he came down the grand staircase of the front hall. It had been so peaceful here for the past several months without his father's annoying interference. With a sigh, Ichigo realized that peace and quiet was in the process of being shattered. He only hoped this old man didn't frighten Orihime any more than she already was. That was the last thing he needed.

Before his foot hit the bottom step, his father was upon him, tackling him with a bear hug. In true Kurosaki fashion, Ichigo dodged with a duck before countering with an elbow to the stomach.

"Just because I've been out in the mountains for six months doesn't mean I've gotten slow, old man!" Ichigo scoffed. He knew what his father was up to; the crafty old coot usually followed up his bear hug with a body slam of some kind. It was one of the many things that irritated Ichigo about his progenitor. The black-haired man, on the other hand, was giving him a grin from his spot kneeling on the floor.

"Well done, son," he said heartily, rising from his crouch, "Soon you'll take my place as head of the family." Ichigo snorted, but didn't reply to this. His father was a long way from retirement still, and he knew Ichigo didn't want that responsibility.

"You two are still just as civilized as ever when you're around one another," a dry voice came from the entrance. Ichigo looked up to see his father's valet, Ryuuken Ishida, trailing into the great hall, tapping his white cane against the floor. The two barely tolerated each other; Ryuuken thought Ichigo acted beneath his station and Ichigo thought he was wound tighter than a clock. And this said nothing of the animosity between Ryuuken and his own son. They made Ichigo and his father look like the best of friends.

"You're early," Ichigo pointed out bluntly, not even wanting to engage in conversation with either of them. This simply earned him a huge grin from his father.

"I wanted to see this human girl with which you've found yourself so besotted!" Isshin exclaimed, "And I simply couldn't wait! Where is she? She's not still sleeping, is she? It's rather late for that..." As his father began looking through the room, Ichigo's eyes followed him critically. He was looking in the most ridiculous places - behind couches and curtains, in the fireplace, inside a large urn. Ichigo resisted the urge to throw a chair at him.

"She certainly isn't in the fireplace," he gritted out, "Miss Inoue is in her chambers. She'll be down soon." Isshin's face lit with unrestrained joy, but Ichigo wasn't stupid enough to trust that entirely. His father was up to something, otherwise he wouldn't have arrived so early.

"And where did you say she was from again?" he pressed on, "I haven't heard the name Inoue before." Ichigo struggled to recall the elaborate lie he'd penned to his father. He had definitely claimed she was nobility, at a minimum.

"She's from south of here," Ichigo said dismissively, hoping he remembered the story correctly, "She's the daughter of one of our lesser noble families. I saw her while I was hunting and brought her here." Isshin looked dazzled, but Ryuuken continued to look as impassive as ever.

"Count?" A gentle voice drifted down from the top of the staircase, sending a shiver up Ichigo's spine.

All eyes in the room immediately turned to her. Ichigo drank in the sight appreciatively, feeling his self-control already starting to strain again. Still, he couldn't look away, nor did he want to. She was all milky white skin, her dress sinfully low-cut with a square neckline to show off her generous bosom. From there, her waist tapered into a graceful silhouette, flowing into a waterfall of pink silk, white lace, and golden chiffon. Her wide amber eyes filled her face, heavy lashes fanning out above them, and her cheeks were dusted with just the palest bit of rosiness. And to top it all off, Tatsuki had put her hair up into an elaborate coif of delicate, fanciful curls, studded with semi-precious combs and laced with ribbons. Orihime Inoue looked every bit the Countess Ichigo had told his father she would be.

Ichigo hurried up the stairs to her before his starstruck father could pounce. He wrapped one protective arm around her back and took her hand in his as he led her down the stairs. Even though he was trying his best to avoid his father's curious eyes, he knew the old man was watching them fervently.

"Do we have guests, my lord?" Orihime asked softly, causing Ichigo to secretly beam with satisfaction. She had learned well.

"We do," he said, keeping his eyes carefully trained on her, "My father, the Marquis Kurosaki, and his valet, the elder Mr. Ishida." This was part of the act, and one Ichigo found himself enjoying all too much. The longer the two of them maintained eye contact, the closer they would appear to be. All too soon, Orihime looked away to acknowledge the two older men, actually causing Ichigo to feel a small pang of jealousy.

Orihime smiled at the two men before her, stepping out of Ichigo's embrace to curtsy to them with a little nod of her head. Each returned the gesture with a small bow, Isshin practically vibrating with excitement as he did so. Ichigo had to give Uryuu credit here - she really was just the type his father would like.

"My name is Orihime Inoue," she said sweetly, "It's an honor to finally meet you, Marquise Kurosaki, Mr. Ishida." The formality only lasted another second before Isshin shattered it to pieces with his theatrics.

"And you as well, Miss Inoue!" he exclaimed through a veil of tears, "Ichigo has told me so much about you! I can't believe you've finally tamed my horrible son! What a feat indeed!" As he spoke, gushing over her bravery and beauty, Isshin grabbed both of her hands, tears streaming down both sides of his face, finally culminating in him snatching Orihime up into a big bear hug - a real one this time, and not a feint. The poor bewildered girl accepted it all for lack of knowing what else to do. Finally, Ichigo had simply had enough, and pried his father's arms off of her.

"You'll crush her, you old oaf!" he admonished, pulling the gasping girl to his side, "She's not as strong as you!" His father looked stunned for all of a second before another grin split his face.

"Oh!" he cried, "And he's so protective! Oh, Masaki! You'd be so proud of your little boy!"

"I would?"

Ichigo's eyes widened at the sound of her voice. Chad had just escorted the gently smiling woman, along with Ichigo's two younger sisters, Karin and Yuzu, into the grand hall. All three were in traveling gowns, the tallest of them glowing with warm light as she led her daughters in. She cut a striking figure as she made her way over, willowy and pale as moonlight, with her golden brown hair twisted all up in gently falling wisps.

Even as her smile seemed disarming and gentle, Ichigo could tell his mother was scrutinizing Orihime. And for her part, Orihime regarded the woman as though she were spellbound; the younger lady was clearly in awe of her elder. But after a moment or two, the tension seemed to lift as Masaki's smile grew wider and more open and she approached the girl to fold her into her embrace.

"Mother," Ichigo said, uncertainty creeping into his voice. Deceiving his father had been the plan, but now that he was being confronted with the reality of his mother's presence, he felt his resolve wavering. In all honesty, he hadn't expected her or his sisters to accompany his father; instead, the deranged old man had brought his entire family!

"Ichigo," Masaki said softly, smiling up at her son as she released Orihime, "She's wonderful. She'll be a lovely addition to the family." As she spoke, her daughters also sized the human girl up.

"You're going to be our big sister?" Yuzu, the blonde sister, asked.

"She's still human?" Karin, the black-haired one observed, ignoring the scandalized looks the adults wore.

"Karin!" Masaki hissed, pretty brows drawing together at her daughter's impropriety. Ichigo was about to step in when Orihime herself spoke up.

"No, no," she said nervously, the small tremble of fear plain in her voice, "I-It's alright. My lord has already informed me of what... what he is." Ichigo visibly relaxed, as did his parents and their valet. In fact, a small smile crossed Masaki's face.

"And you aren't afraid, dear?" she asked quietly. Ichigo was keenly aware of the slight flutter in Orihime's eyelids that betrayed her as she spoke.

"No," she lied, "I will do what my lord asks of me, when the time comes." Part of him wanted to believe that lie. He felt that sharp pinprick lance him again. He knew it wasn't true. Orihime didn't want this life. He knew she didn't. But his parents didn't know that; in fact, he thought he saw tears in his mother's eyes.

"Oh, darling," she addressed her husband, who was now sniffling into a fine, silk handkerchief, "Isn't she simply wonderful?" Karin took the opportunity to cast the human girl a devious smirk, while her parents were still distracted.

"So," she addressed her brother quietly, "How's she taste?" Ichigo blushed as brightly as his pale skin would allow while Orihime visibly fought the urge to hide her face behind her hands. Instead, she found a small lace fan Tatsuki had equipped her with and opened it to shield her blush.

"N-None of your business!" Ichigo squawked quietly, trying not to distract his parents from their own theatrics. Karin grinned triumphantly while Yuzu fought a pale blush of her own.

"So you _have_ tried her!" Karin prodded, enjoying the easy rise she got out of her brother. Six months ago, Ichigo would've been furious at this line of questioning; with everything he'd gone through, it was hardly alright. But now, he just found himself getting as flustered as he would have otherwise. He just hoped it didn't upset Orihime, but by the looks of things, she was having the same reaction as him.

"You know I can't do that!" Ichigo hissed quietly. His bluff did little to eschew Karin's glittering eyes and the mirth painted on her face. She obviously wasn't buying it.

"Oh, Ichigo," Masaki finally turned back to her son, interrupting the vigorous sibling rivalry, "We were so excited when we heard the news! We wanted to come as soon as your father told us!" Ichigo tightened his grip on Orihime to make sure his sisters didn't try to draw her away while he was preoccupied with his mother.

"Quite so," Isshin happily affirmed, "We wanted to see the girl that had captured your heart for ourselves." Ichigo could feel Orihime's nervousness through the fabric at her back. Her heart was hammering as fast as a little bird's, and he feared she might work herself into a faint, especially with the blood she'd already lost that night.

"You'll have plenty of time to get to know her later tonight," Ichigo said sternly, trying to herd his unruly family, "For now, Uryuu and Miss Kurotsuchi will have prepared your old rooms for you." He heard the elder Ishida snort softly at the mention of the black-haired girl, but Ichigo said nothing. Instead, his father replied, eyes glittering with intrigue.

"Oh, but we're not ready to retire just yet," the older Kurosaki said, "There's another coach coming just behind us." Ichigo didn't trust his tone of voice in the slightest. The old man was up to something.

"With your bags?" Ichigo asked skeptically. The black-haired man simply laughed.

"Oh no, no!" he answered jovially, "Nothing like that!" Before Ichigo could question the old man further, the door of the great hall swung open and Chad rushed in with a flurry of snow behind him.

"My lord!" he gasped, "A coach from the Kuchiki clan has arrived! And they've brought a guest!" Ichigo's brows furrowed as he watched his father turn toward the door with a smile. Had he invited the Marquis and his sister? What was he up to?

Presently, three figures stepped into the great hall from the cold outside. The first, and smallest, was a girl almost as tall as Orihime with ivory skin, a slight figure, and midnight black hair cropped just above her shoulders. Her blood red traveling cloak concealed full violet skirts, all covered in a dusting of snow. She walked with all the presence of a queen or a high-ranking general, leading the two men behind her. This was the Marquise of Kuchiki, Ichigo's childhood friend, Rukia.

Just after her was her brother's red-headed valet, Renji. He had likely been driving her carriage, as he was wearing a rather low-class riding outfit, splattered with snow and road grime. The poor fellow looked like a wet, angry dog.

And the last person caused Ichigo's eyes to widen. It wasn't Rukia's brother, as he'd expected. No, this was far worse. He was nearly as tall as Renji and slim, his dull blonde hair just brushing its tips over his shoulders. His priest's robes marked his profession, as well as the inverted St. Peter's cross he wore. This man was a vampire, just like the rest of them, but for reasons that were beyond Ichigo's comprehension, he chose to work in the Catholic church. All he did know was that trouble and strife followed Kisuke Urahara, and the man's arrival in his house could hardly be considered a good thing.

"What's _he_ doing here?" Ichigo hissed, quietly rounding on his father and ignoring his new guests.

"Oh, Kisuke?" Isshin asked innocently, "I invited him along. As you and Miss Inoue seemed so eager to be wed from your missive to me, I thought 'Why not help the two lovebirds along?' And so here he is! It was very kind of him to make it on such short notice, don't you think?"

Ichigo could feel his dander rise. His father had somehow cottoned on to what he was doing and was calling his bluff. Chances were that the old man didn't know exactly what Ichigo was playing at, but he'd figured something wasn't right with his story. So now, the old man wanted Ichigo to go through with a wedding just to satisfy his skepticism.

"The lady and I agreed we'd be wed as soon as the snow thaws in the spring," Ichigo growled, "She's partial to flowers." He was thinking on the fly, and he doubted it would sway his father, but it was worth a shot. Orihime was becoming more distressed by the second, and if Ichigo didn't excuse her soon, she might panic or do something to give them away.

"Oh, don't be silly, my boy!" Isshin boomed, clearly enjoying his son's discomfort, "I've gone to all the trouble of inviting them all as guests, so you might as well go through with it!" Ichigo was about to protest again when he felt the girl in his arms sway.

"My lord," she murmured, giving him a pleading look before her eyes fluttered shut. Her warm body slumped against Ichigo's chest as he caught her easily, panic welling within him. She'd fainted dead away.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Twelve  
**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness, religious topics, sexual situations. Should be read with the lights off.  
**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

* * *

As Orihime came back to consciousness, she was vaguely aware that she wasn't alone. The other presence in the room was warm and comforting, and she began to wonder if she wasn't already home in her own bed with her sister.

"Rangiku?" she asked blearily, turning her face in the direction of the other person in the room. She felt a gentle hand swab a warm washcloth across her forehead, before withdrawing with a pleasant sigh.

"You're finally awake," the sweet voice said, "No, dear, I'm not your Rangiku." Orihime's eyes fluttered open to reveal the hazy picture of the lovely golden-haired woman she'd met briefly before - the Count's mother. She blinked a few times to focus, clearing her eyes of sleep, and found herself staring at the older lady's warm, brown eyes. They weren't much different from the Count's, actually.

"I-I fell asleep," Orihime acknowledged sheepishly. She noted that night had already fallen outside; it had been near dawn when she fainted, and now it was darker. She even wondered for a moment if she'd slept for more than one day. She could tell a blush had started to creep up her neck at the idea. Tatsuki had told her that nobleladies weren't exactly possessed of the best constitutions, but she still couldn't help but be embarrassed at her own weakness. The Marquise simply smiled.

"You fainted," she corrected, "Tatsuki informed us that Ichigo had been... snacking, before we came." The blush overwhelmed Orihime's face entirely, causing the Marquise to chuckle behind her hand. Orihime wanted to hide under her covers for some inexplicable reason. It wasn't as though she and the Count had actually made love, but what had transpired seemed like it might have been almost as personal.

"It's embarrassing," Orihime muttered, pulling her comforter up to her chin. The older lady simply patted her head.

"Come now, child," she cooed, causing Orihime to feel oddly soothed, "It's natural he'd want to feed on you. Although you're very lucky. Did Tatsuki tell you that?" Orihime's eyelids drooped a bit as she recalled all that had transpired the night before. Just thinking about it was enough to make her sad.

"Yes," she said softly, "Tatsuki told me about the Count's condition." She could tell that the Marquise shared her sadness, although hers was likely much keener than she let on. The Count _was_ her only son, after all. Still the woman nodded to her with a sad smile.

"I believe he'd be quite bereft if he couldn't keep you in spite of it," she said kindly, "He's hardly slept a wink today. He's too busy coming up here to check on you." A large part of Orihime was surprised and flattered at the news; it was strangely nice to realize he cared that much. But the other part of her felt a pang; it was dangerous for him to be that attached to her. She knew logically she couldn't stay with him.

"The Count is really wonderful, isn't he?" she finally said quietly, trying to keep the lie together. But she would need to speak to him as soon as possible. There was no way she could go through with this wedding. Perhaps Masaki sensed her hesitation, but she didn't note it. Instead, she turned the conversation to a different track.

"Oh, I'm so glad you think so," she nearly gushed, showing much the same enthusiasm as the Marquis, "He's just like his father was when he courted me!" Orihime suspected the Count would find that comparison less than flattering, but was enchanted by the Marquise's enthusiasm nonetheless.

"What was the Marquis like?" Orihime asked, sensing the older woman wanted her to follow her lead along the conversation. At the question, the brunette hid her laughter in her sleeve.

"Oh, he was so very charming!" she continued, "He saw me working as a milk-maid and stole me away from the farm in the night! Before I knew what had even happened, he'd fed on me several times, made me into a vampire, and seduced me. It all happened very fast." Orihime's mouth was open wide - the Count's mother wasn't even nobility? In fact, it sounded like her situation wasn't that different from Orihime's.

"Then you were... you were human once, too?" she asked carefully, "Just like me?" The brunette smiled warmly as she wrapped an arm around Orihime's shoulders.

"Just like you," she echoed, "Although I doubt you were a milk-maid. Ah, but... Let's keep that just between the two of us, shall we? Isshin had to hide me from his own father until he'd forged a passable pedigree for me - the elder Mr. Ishida had to convince him there was no nobility in the Americas - so the children are none-the-wiser." Orihime's eyes were wide from this information - it was probably why Tatsuki and the Count had been so insistent she learn proper etiquette. They had also been fooled into believing it was important to the Marquis.

"A-Ah, yes ma'am!" Orihime said seriously, her face a stern mask. The Marquise laughed at her sudden change of demeanor.

"Please, call me Mother," she offered kindly. Orihime felt her eyes water as her face went back to normal; she couldn't remember her own mother. She and her father had died while she was just a toddler, struck down by the beast - now known to be another vampire - that had been threatening their village. She felt keenly now that she'd never really known what it was like to have a mother. And she hated the idea that she had to lie to her.

"Y-Yes, Mother," she sniffled, holding back tears. The brunette cooed softly at her, folding her into her arms and gently rubbing her back for a long moment. As they were just pulling apart, the heavy door to Orihime's room swung inward, causing Orihime to startle at the sound. As she looked up to the doorway, she saw two of the strangers from earlier enter. The tall, red-haired man was carrying a tray in his hands, while the petite, black-haired girl swished into the room in her full violet skirts.

"Hoooh, she's awake?" the girl asked, wide-eyed. The Marquise smiled at them both before rising to envelope the black-haired girl in a hug of her own.

"She just came to a few minutes ago," she said, "I'll excuse myself so you and Renji can get to know her better." The black-haired girl curtsied to her elder before she swished out the door. As soon as the older woman was gone, the younger exhaled deeply before turning back to Orihime with a crooked grin.

"So you're the human girl that stole sour old Ichigo's heart?" she began, causing Orihime to stare in bewilderment. She hadn't met anyone who spoke like this so far, and she wasn't all that sure that the girl wasn't challenging her. It was all Orihime could do to give her an intimidated answer.

"Y-Yes, I am," she said shyly, "I'm Orihime Inoue." The black-haired girl curtsied briefly.

"I'm Rukia, Marquise of Kuchiki," she said with a clear hint of happiness now, "And this is my valet, Renji Abarai." The red-head tipped his head towards Orihime, motioning toward the tray in his hands.

"Miss Arisawa said you'd be hungry," he rumbled, "So she gave this to us for you." Orihime finally noticed that she could smell the delightful scents of roast chicken and herbs from beneath the cover of the tray. Her mouth began to water as she looked at it.

"A-Ah, thank you!" Orihime blurted out, grateful for the food. Renji situated the tray over her lap as Orihime looked on in wonderment; she'd never dreamed of being served like this before. As she unrolled her golden dinner service, Rukia began to speak.

"We were told you would understand that we aren't quite used to this," she said, eyes sparkling, "But I hope this is sufficient?" Orihime nodded gratefully as the dish was uncovered; she could fully smell the delicious aroma now.

"It's wonderful," she breathed, finally noticing something, "Oh! Tatsuki left the garlic out this time!" Rukia and Renji blinked in unison for a second before they looked at each other with similar grins.

"She cooked your food with garlic?" Rukia asked, hiding her utter amusement. Orihime was too preoccupied with her meal to notice much, but she at least remembered to chew and swallow before answering.

"Oh, lots and lots!" Orihime responded happily, taking a drought of the water she'd been given, "It was really delicious! N-Not that this isn't, this is wonderful, too!" At this, both Renji and Rukia burst out into peals of laughter. Orihime stopped, mid-chew, to wonder at them.

"Did I... say something funny?" she asked. The black-haired girl was clinging to her escort's arm, nearly gasping for breath now.

"Did he not tell you?" Rukia asked, "We are, all of us, highly allergic to garlic. Ichigo in particular cannot even bear the smell!" Orihime's eyes widened. It made sense then, why Tatsuki insisted on seasoning all of her meals with it; she had been trying to dissuade the Count from losing control around her. Orihime blushed at the realization.

"He must've been having trouble keeping off of her," Renji went on with a knowing smirk. Rukia didn't seem to think that was too funny, though - and all things considered, Orihime thought it probably wasn't. She slapped him lightly in the midsection before tugging at his ear; the look she gave him could wither the courage of the bravest of men. Instead of running, however, the redhead simply took it and only whined a little.

"Oww, Rukiaaa!"

"Behave yourself, Renji," the black-haired girl commanded before releasing his ear. Orihime watched the exchange in fascination. She'd only ever seen some of the harsher wives in town act like that to their husbands, usually when they were in Rangiku's presence. And they seemed very informal towards each other for a noblelady and her servant.

"You two seem very close," Orihime observed with a small smile, in-between bites. She watched curiously as the pale Marquise's skin turned a sluggish pink and her valet cleared his throat and looked away.

"Renji has been with my family for many years," the Marquise explained with something of a nervous smile. Orihime wondered at all of this; she thought perhaps there might be something between these two, but she wasn't exactly sure what. Perhaps Renji was Rukia's half-brother, begotten by a tryst with a married woman and unable to claim his rightful place as heir? Or maybe he wasn't a vampire at all, but a werewolf or some kind of demon who was contractually bound to Rukia through magic? Or what if Renji was a wizard who was trying to magically enslave Rukia for his own diabolical purposes? Orihime's imagination entertained several possibilities as she ate, each farther removed from reality than the last. Finally, Rukia spoke again and snapped her out of her self-induced trance.

"Actually, we... wanted to thank you," Rukia said, folding her hands over her full skirts, "The Marquis had been entertaining the idea of wedding me to Ichigo several years ago, and renewed his interest in it over the past year. He had almost won my brother over before you came along. Neither of us wanted that." Orihime listened curiously until Rukia was done speaking before asking her question.

"O-Oh," she began, "I'm glad you don't have to, then. But... you both wanted to thank me? Why?" Rukia turned even redder than before as her violet eyes widened and Renji nearly choked from embarrassment.

"I guess Ichigo didn't tell her," Renji muttered, scratching the back of his neck.

"At least we are not as horribly obvious as we feared we might be?" Rukia responded hopefully.

"Obvious about what?" Orihime asked innocently. Rukia gave her a shy smile before explaining.

"Renji has been trying to gain my brother's approval for us to wed for years now," Rukia said, "After it was decided that Miss Arisawa would be betrothed to Ichigo, Renji decided he would try to win my hand. He's been trying to convince Brother ever since." As she spoke, Renji took her hand in his and held it tight. Orihime felt as though everything had suddenly become clear to her. There was nothing strange or fantastic about the relationship these two shared. They were simply two young people in love, regardless of social rank and status. Instead of being fantastic, Orihime thought it was horribly romantic. She only hoped there would be a way for them to stay together without her and the Count having to wed.

"A-Ah!" Orihime finally exclaimed, cheeks pink, "Good luck, Mr. Abarai! I'm sure you'll win him over!" The man in question blushed a bit before giving an answer.

"I hope so," he finally grumbled, letting a small smile grow on his face, "He can be a real mean ol'-" But Rukia's elbow met his side again, causing him to gasp for air. "Oww! Rukia!"

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with Brother," she corrected him quickly, causing him to wince.

"Your brother's one of the stodgiest people I've ever met," a familiar voice came from the doorway. Rukia and Renji turned in unison to look at who'd entered while they were talking. Orihime looked around the two of them to see the Count leaning against the doorway and giving them a stern look.

"Well, it's a good thing you will not be related to him, is it not?" Rukia huffed, arching one fine black eyebrow at him. The Count rewarded her with a pale blush, causing Orihime to blush in turn. Sometimes it felt like the boundaries of their charade were blurring into reality.

"I prefer it," the Count said, regaining his composure, "Now if you'll please excuse us, I need to speak to Miss Inoue alone." Renji and Rukia exchanged looks before they each had a grin spread across their faces.

"Control yourself, Ichigo," Rukia chided as she shuffled out the door. Renji gave him a slap on the back and a chuckle as he passed.

"It's just a few more days, you can wait," he joked, earning a stiff glare from the Count. Renji brushed it off and trailed out behind Rukia. Once she was sure they were gone and the door was shut, Orihime finally spoke.

"What are we going to do?" she asked miserably, "Your mother is so nice a-and your friend can be with the one she loves i-if we..." Tears were welling in her eyes as the Count came to her bedside and knelt.

"My father brought them on purpose," he said sternly, taking her hands, "To play on our emotions. He knows I can't deny Mother anything." Even as he said this, his eyes were calm and unwavering, his mouth a thin line. She could tell he was unhappy.

"Somehow, he caught on to our plan," he continued. Orihime's eyes went wide in shock.

"H-He knows?" she asked, trembling, "B-But he seemed so friendly..." The Count snorted.

"Oh, he is," he assured her, "But he's also invested in getting what he wants. I don't think he knows our whole plan, but I think he knew enough to be suspicious. That's why he's pressuring us like he is, by bringing all these people." Orihime felt like the room had turned upside down on her. How did he find out? He obviously came prepared, so he had to have been tipped off beforehand. But how?

"It's not fair," she whispered, "We did everything right." The Count reached up to brush her unruly hair out of her eyes, his whole face sympathetic.

"Parents have a way of finding things out, I guess," he mused with a sigh, "Tricky old devil. But that leaves us with a problem." Orihime nodded. She knew exactly what he meant.

"What do we do now?" she asked miserably, looking to him for answers. A flash of pain crossed the Count's face, but before she could register it, it was gone.

"Exactly," he answered, "What do we do now? We... can do this one of two ways." Orihime listened to him, enrapt. "The first way is, I can send you back home early."

Orihime knew she'd have to go back sooner or later, but still hearing it said like that seemed unpleasant. She loved her sister, but she also cherished her new friends. As she thought about it, she even adored the Count's mother and the Marquise. It was hard to think she'd never see these people again.

"What's... the other way?" she finally asked, dreading what he would say.

"You could marry me?" he asked, lifting his eyes to meet hers. Just from the look on his face, Orihime could tell he was serious. She was sure she looked absolutely aghast, even though part of her was tempted.

"We could get it annulled as soon as they leave," he muttered, eyes flickering downward to look away from her face, "Or ignore it entirely after they're gone." Her lower lip trembled as she held back tears.

"I-I'm sorry," she whispered as his grip flexed over her hands, "I just... I can't..."  
She wanted to tell him all the reasons why - how she couldn't bear to commit such a lie in the face of God, how it wouldn't be right to either of them to engage in such a sham, and most of all, how badly she would have wanted it to be real if he were only human. Such a falsehood would simply be too much to bear.

"It's alright," he finally said soothingly, brushing her hair out of her face again, "I didn't really expect you to say yes. It's a little sudden, isn't it?" Orihime wondered at his tone of voice; was that a hint of sadness peeking through? Either way, he didn't look her in the face. He simply gave her hands one last squeeze and stood, giving her a strained smile as he gained his footing.

"If you can bear one more day," he went on, "I'll have Chad take you down tomorrow afternoon, before everyone wakes." Orihime nodded sheepishly, unable to meet his eyes now. She was afraid of what she'd see. Instead, she heard soft footsteps pad toward her door before it opened and closed again, leaving her alone with her thoughts, a tray of half-eaten food, and a weak appetite.

* * *

The day passed uneventfully, Orihime mostly keeping to herself and her own chambers while the Count was nowhere for her to see. Tatsuki brought her meals, and she entertained the Count's younger sisters for a time. Even they were lively and charming, the black-haired one being more of a scoundrel than her blonde twin. They helped lift the pall that had settled over the room and cheer Orihime a bit, even though she knew she'd never see them again.

Soon enough, daylight came, and then the afternoon. She knew the Count wouldn't normally come outside in the sunlight, but the shadows were growing longer over the courtyard as twilight approached. Finally, Tatsuki summoned her to the front of the courtyard where Sado awaited in the same carriage that had brought her to the castle.

"I'll miss you," Tatsuki said, pulling the other girl into a tight hug, "If you ever want to come back, please don't hesitate." Orihime smiled when she finally let go of her.

"Don't cry, Tatsuki," she soothed, "I-I'll never forget you." Tatsuki had been managing to hold back her tears until then, but the admonishment was too much.

"I'm not crying, dummy!" she sniffled, rubbing at her face. Instead of arguing, Orihime simply hugged her again.

"You should get a move on," a voice came from the doorway of the courtyard. Orihime looked up to see the Count, just as splendidly dressed as when she'd first met him, all in black and holding a black parasol. Orihime suddenly felt very self-conscious; she'd changed into her old plain brown dress for the trip home, so she no longer looked the part of a Countess-to-be. The Count's face was a grim line as he stepped up to the girls.

"I wanted to see you off," he explained, looking down at Orihime with lidded eyes. She was sure her cheeks and nose were as red as a bushel of apples now, and not because of the cold.

"Thank you," she whispered, "I-I'm sorry it turned out like this." He touched her shoulder lightly and began leading her up the carriage steps.

"It's not your fault," he replied softly, helping her settle in, "It's my father. He really is impossible." As soon as Orihime was comfortable, he shut the door and pulled open the window to continue talking to her.

"I know you probably don't want to hear this a second time," he whispered, leaning into the carriage to look her straight in the eyes, "But I meant what I said. If you ever change your mind, please..." Orihime could barely keep from crying. She leaned forward, gently stroking the side of his cold face as she did so.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I'm so... so sorry." Those were the only words she could even think to formulate. The Count's eyes filled with pity as he leaned a little farther into the carriage.

"Shh," he cooed, causing Orihime's eyelids to fall to half-mast, "It's alright." Before she knew what had even happened, she had closed her eyes and leaned in to kiss him.

His lips were much colder than she'd expected, especially considering he was standing in the snow, but it still felt good. They moved against hers, seeking her warmth, and she shyly obliged. Even his cool skin was no deterrent; instead she found herself tingling from head to toe and reeling by the time he pulled away.

"There's a trunk in the back of the carriage with clothes for you," he said quietly, barely a hair's width from her lips, "And enough gold to last you the rest of your life." Orihime startled and pulled back to look at him. He was giving her a small, satisfied smirk as he pulled his head back from the window.

"Count, you... you didn't have to," she said numbly. But he wasn't listening to her protests now. Instead, he had backed all the way out of the carriage and had his hand on the window to close it.

"Farewell, Orihime," he said, sliding it shut, "Be well."

As the horses began to move, she found her face pressed to the glass, desperately trying to keep the Count in sight. But after they'd gone a few paces, he'd vanished completely.

* * *

Ichigo had immediately gone to the window of his bedroom, overlooking the courtyard where the orange light of the dying sun stretched across the snowy tracks of the carriage that had just left. He'd wanted to watch her go until she was completely out of sight, but for some strange reason, he found himself lingering by the windowsill.

This was a completely new experience for Ichigo. In all his sixty-nine years of life, he had never felt something like this for anyone else. Yes, he loved his mother and sisters and even his infernal, meddling father. But this was different. It gnawed and pulled at him. He knew that he had a long life ahead of him, and that in the grand scheme of things, this was nothing. It was a speck of sand falling through an otherwise full hourglass. So why, then, did he feel so miserable at her loss?

Perhaps it was the fleetingness of it all. She would get married to a human, have children, grow old and die, yet Ichigo would look much the same as he did just then. And he would have nothing to do with any of it - a passive bystander to another man's happy life. It left a bitter taste in his mouth like none other.

He touched the window pane, trailing a finger down it as the sun crept ever slower towards the horizon.

"There you are, my boy!" an enthusiastic voice boomed from behind him.

"What are you doing in my room, old man?" Ichigo answered succinctly, looking at his reflection in the window pane. His father's face fell into an unbecoming pout.

"You're so harsh to your father," he complained, "This used to be my room, you know." Ichigo snorted and rolled his eyes.

"About sixty years ago," Ichigo noted, "What do you want?" At this, Isshin's face perked right up, as if he'd been waiting for a chance to explain.

"Your mother and I have picked the perfect place for Miss Inoue in the family tomb. You should bring her down for a tour!" The old man happily carried on, ignoring the way Ichigo's posture went ramrod straight at the mention of Orihime.

"She's not here," he muttered, interrupting his father's ramble.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" he replied with a sheepish chuckle, "It sounded like you just said Miss Inoue isn't here!" Ichigo shut his eyes, blocking out the reflection of his father's face falling.

"She isn't here, old man," Ichigo continued, "I sent her back to her family." Just saying the words twisted something inside him, and his father seemed just as crestfallen.

"Why?" the older man asked, "Why would you send her back? You got along so well!" Ichigo's flat hand became a fist against the pane of glass.

"I couldn't do it," he murmured, "I couldn't subject her to this kind of life." His father looked utterly confused for several more moments before his face set into a stern line, pallid and grim.

"Then I'm glad I invited Rukia," he said softly. Ichigo was confused enough that he turned to look at his father's serious countenance.

"What?" the younger man asked. His eyebrows knitted together, certain his father was about to say something unpleasant.

"In case you didn't follow through with your marriage to Miss Inoue," Isshin said evenly, "I contacted the Marquis Kuchiki and asked for his sister's hand for you. He agreed."

Ichigo felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. This was precisely what he had been trying to avoid, and he was certain Rukia had no idea. If she had, she certainly would've been less thrilled than she was when she arrived.

"We'll meet with Kisuke tonight, to work out the details," Isshin said firmly as he made his way out the door.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Thirteen  
**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness, religious topics, sexual situations. Should be read with the lights off.  
**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

* * *

Orihime watched dejectedly as night fell over the snowy countryside rolling past the carriage window. She had been crying on and off since they left the castle's courtyard, the tears forming chilly tracks down her cheeks. Somehow, the trip back home seemed longer than the trip up to the castle.

The reality of the situation was finally beginning to settle on her. She would never see the Count, or his family or staff, ever again. Yes, she still had her humanity and her soul, but she was starting to wonder how much that was really worth. She had just done the right thing, hadn't she? But if that was so, why did it hurt so much?

_'The right path is not always the easiest,'_ she reminded herself. Such words were of little comfort to her now, though. And what if this wasn't the right path at all? What if she was meant to be in that castle, with the Count, after all? He clearly needed her help, help that no one else had thus far been able to provide him. And he clearly had a soul, if she really thought about it. He felt pain and joy and sorrow, just as she did. And even though she wasn't entirely certain, she did suspect he cared deeply for her, maybe even loved her. His family also shared a close bond, just like a human family; his mother and father were deeply in love, which was obvious even to her.

Could creatures with the capacity to love really be irredeemable?

Then there was the priest that she hadn't gotten a chance to speak to. How did he feel about this? He was a man of God, surely he would know more about this than she? Orihime suddenly found herself wishing she'd had a chance to speak with him. Perhaps he could've put her fears to rest for good, or given her some reassurance of God's plan in all this.

Finally, she could bear it no longer. Orihime gathered her courage, her fists balled into little knots in her dress and her face stern. She stood in the carriage and went to the window just behind the driver's seat. It snapped open easily, letting a blast of cold air into the passenger compartment, but Orihime didn't care. She needed to tell Sado before it was too late.

"Mr. Sado!" she yelled against the clatter of horses' hooves and the grind of the carriage wheels, "Mr. Sado, please stop!" She wasn't at all sure he'd heard her until the carriage eased to a halt. Then, he turned in his seat to look down to her window.

"Miss Inoue?" he asked, his surprise showing beneath his shaggy hair. She was certain she looked like a desperate mess, her face red from crying and hair mussed from the trip.

"I... I want to go back," she said, giving him a piteous look, "I'm sorry for the trouble, but..." She stopped when she noticed Sado was smiling warmly at her from beneath the shadow of his top hat.

"Alright," he agreed with a nod. He didn't continue, for some time, however, stiffening and staying as still as if he were frozen - and for all Orihime knew, it was entirely possible. Could vampires freeze solid if left out in the cold too long?  
Before any answer was forthcoming, however, Sado turned to her with an anxious expression on his face.

"Get down!" he yelled, spurring the horses. Orihime's eyes went wide at the command. She was just about to slide the driver's window shut, when an impact rocked the carriage hard. Instead of shutting the window, she flew back against her seat on the other side, then slumped to the floor.

Dazed, she lifted her head and noticed the carriage had come to a stop again. This time, however, she heard the sounds of struggle outside - Sado was definitely fighting something out there. Orihime's eyes widened when she realized this must be the other vampire Ichigo had spoken of. She froze in place, not sure what to do. Of the two things Orihime knew they were deathly allergic to, garlic and silver, both were in very short supply at the moment.

Unfortunately, she only had a second more to contemplate her course of action. The carriage door abruptly splintered inward, causing her to shriek and jump back against the far wall. As the cold air rushed in and the wood was ripped off its frame, their attacker stepped inside.

"My, my," he drawled, "So the little Countess was in here after all!"

Orihime's scream was muffled by his cold hand before he took hold of her.

* * *

"Absolutely not! I refuse!"

Rukia had tears in her fierce violet eyes as she pounded the table and stood. Her valet stood further back in the room; Uryuu had to stand beside him to keep him from saying anything, but Ichigo could easily tell he was about to lose his temper. He was nearly as red as his hair and shaking with anger, for goodness sake - and, Ichigo thought, with good reason. How many years had he been trying to win Rukia's stoic brother's approval, only to be derailed at the last second?

"But dearest Rukia!" Isshin pouted from across the table at her, "It has always been my fondest wish that you be my daughter-in-law! I know this is sudden..."

"Very sudden!" she interjected angrily.

"...and I know you may feel insulted at being a replacement..."

"Quite insulted!" she assured him.

"...but there's really nothing to be done for it now!" Ichigo was glaring daggers at the infernal old man over the table they'd all been arranged around. His mother sat beside his father, solemn as a statue, while Rukia sat beside Ichigo. The tiny woman was furious, her pale skin flushed and eyes flashing in rage. Ichigo considered them all lucky she hadn't disemboweled everyone present with her bare hands yet.

"Oh, yes there is!" the petite girl interjected, leaning into the table, "Ichigo can march right to the Inoue estate and bring her back here! And if she does not agree, he can stay frozen on her lawn until she does agree for all I care!"

"I won't force her," Ichigo muttered from beneath crossed arms, "It's not right." Rukia wheeled on him, pulling him up by his collar and giving him a healthy shake.

"And this is?" she yelled into his face. Ichigo winced at the noise.

"And you want me to marry this, old man?" Ichigo turned his ire toward his father; he was quite well aware that he wouldn't win against Rukia. But his father's attention was already diverted to his mother again.

"It's as if they're already married, dear," Isshin sniffed, smiling, "They're so close to be able to argue like that!" Masaki looked singularly unimpressed, but Ichigo knew his mother was too polite to express her displeasure directly.

"I suppose," she said warily. Ichigo and Rukia both turned on Isshin as one.

"I don't want to be married to someone who yells like this!" Ichigo interjected, his voice being completely ignored by his father.

"Neither do I!" Rukia agreed, slamming her hands on the table again for emphasis. Ichigo winced when she did, certain he'd just heard the wood splinter.

"If you break that table, I'm charging your infernal brother for it," Ichigo snarled, not even bothering to restrain his temper anymore. At this, Rukia rounded on him.

"Do not speak of my brother that way!"

"Your brother is the one who got us into this mess!"

"He was simply agreeing to _your_ father's insanity!"

"Enough!"

The arguing pair looked across the table to where Masaki had stood, furious. Her brown eyes flashed as even the tips of her hair seemed to stand on end with the electricity of her anger. Ichigo had rarely ever seen his mother angry, and had hoped not to see it again. It was truly a fearsome sight to behold.

"You are _all_ being childish," she scolded firmly, "Yes, even _you_." This was directed at Isshin, who was trying not to cringe at his wife's fearsome voice. "Ichigo," she said, directing her angry eyes back at her son, "Stop this petulance and either bring Miss Inoue back, or follow your father's wishes. It is time you started acting like an adult, and finding a wife is part of that. And Miss Kuchiki, please do not insult my husband in my presence."

All three were cowed into silence as they shrank into their chairs. Renji, meanwhile, tried to hide his mirth on the other side of the room. Ichigo was sure the redhead well knew that there were very few things he wouldn't resort to in order to not have to marry Rukia.

"Is something funny, Mr. Abarai?" Masaki asked, turning her fierce gaze on him. The smile immediately vanished from Renji's face as he stood at attention.

"N-No, of course not, ma'am," he replied shakily. Masaki turned to face the table again and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Then this is what we shall do," she said, taking her seat delicately, "Ichigo, you have until midnight tomorrow to fetch Miss Inoue and bring her back here. If you can't, or won't, then you will wed Miss Kuchiki here. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mother," Ichigo muttered darkly. Rukia didn't look very pleased with this proclamation, either.

"Miss Kuchiki, is that understood?" the Marquise went on. Even though her words were sweet, Ichigo knew they were laced with an underlying threat.

"Yes, ma'am," Rukia said cleanly and distinctly.

"But... But dearest," Isshin finally said, turning to his wife, "Why make things so complicated? Wouldn't it just be easier to..." Her look silenced him completely.

"_Dear_ husband," she began, her sweet voice holding a threat for him as well, "Would you like to move to a separate chamber from me in the morning?" Ichigo could swear he saw his father panic.

"N-No, of course not, darling," he replied somewhat miserably, as though he was pleading with her. Ichigo propped his head up with his hand. He really didn't need to hear his parents discuss their love life in front of him.

"Then I suggest you drop the subject for the time being," she said kindly, causing Isshin to wince a bit. Then, she turned back to Ichigo.

"Ichigo," she went on, "Isn't there someplace you need to be?" Ichigo stood, bowing his head slightly to his mother. He could take a hint.

"Thank you, Mother," he muttered sincerely before heading for the door. As soon as he'd left, Rukia addressed the older lady as well.

"May I be excused, as well?" she asked, her eyebrows puckering her forehead. The Marquise gave her a gracious nod.

"Go ahead, dear."

* * *

Several seconds after Ichigo excused himself from his parents' company, a rush of tiny footsteps followed him down the hall. Just as he was turning to see what the commotion was, he found himself grabbed at the collar by a pair of small, white hands and slammed into the stone wall. When the stars had finally cleared from his vision, he looked down at his attacker.

"Oww! What the devil was that for, Rukia?"

The fierce little woman was staring at him with all the determination and anger she could muster.

"You know very well what it was for," she said, shaking him roughly before releasing him, "I do not know what you did to offend that girl so, but you had better undo it before tomorrow!" Ichigo flinched before looking down each end of the hallway to ensure they were alone. When he was satisfied, he turned back to Rukia, face stern.

"Walk with me," he ordered quietly. Rukia frowned at him, but obliged anyway. When Ichigo was satisfied they were out of any possible earshot, he turned back to Rukia and began to speak.

"This entire thing was a ruse," he confessed, glancing sideways at his companion to gauge her reaction. Rukia seemed unsurprised.

"To convince your father to leave you be," she correctly guessed, "So what was the Inoue girl? An actress? A prostitute?" Ichigo's eye twitched.

"Did she _seem_ like a prostitute to you?" Ichigo growled, "She's a peasant from the village. Uryuu picked her specifically to appeal to my father." Rukia seemed oblivious to the undertone of aggravation in Ichigo's words as she considered what he'd said.

"Hoooh, she's a very good actress, then," Rukia observed, "You two really seemed smitten with each other." Ichigo was about to answer back that they had been when Rukia's eyes widened with realization.

"You told a peasant about us?" she asked, horrified, "Ichigo, why would you-" Ichigo cut her off with a sharp glare.

"Of course not," he hissed, "She found out about my... condition the hard way." Rukia's glare turned stony.

"You idiot!" she huffed, boxing his ear, "What were you thinking? Did you... What if she... And now you...! Ichigo!" Ichigo resisted the urge to throttle the fiery woman.

"We didn't do _that_!" he protested, trying to keep his voice down, "Tatsuki and Uryuu caught me. But yes, that is how she found out. She was even going to stay for this entire visit until that infernal old man started pushing us to wed!" Rukia folded her arms over her narrow chest, sending Ichigo a deathly glare.

"And what were you going to do once you set her free and she could no longer come to family functions?" Rukia asked sternly, "Go pick her up from the village again?" Ichigo cleared his throat to keep from shouting at her.

"I would simply tell them she had died," he said firmly, "I had been under the impression it would stop my father from perusing the matter any further." Rukia looked unmoved.

"Well, that obviously is not the case," she said, her voice barely suppressing her irritation, "So I suppose fetching her is out of the question?" At this, Ichigo's look softened from one of hard irritation to one of regret.

"I tried to convince her to marry me anyway," he confessed, causing Rukia's eyebrows to fly toward her hairline, "But she refused. I didn't want to force her. And I know she doesn't want this life. From what Tatsuki has told me, she fears for her soul." At this information, Rukia looked thoughtful for a moment. Then, her face lit up.

"Ichigo, that's it!" she said, as though she'd just uncovered an amazing secret, "Take Urahara with you and have him convince her! If she is religious, she will have to listen to him!" Ichigo's nose crinkled in distaste. Even as much as Urahara had helped him and his family, he still didn't trust the father as far as he could throw him. To be honest, he feared even letting Orihime talk to him.

"I'd rather he stay away from her," he grumbled. Rukia gave him a sour look before punching him hard on the arm. "Oww! What was that for?"

"For being a dense idiot!" she exclaimed, "Do you want that girl back or not?" Leave it to Rukia to get directly to the point. Ichigo simply gave her a bewildered look. Of _course_ he wanted Orihime back. He'd felt her absence keenly every minute since she'd gone, and the thought of never seeing her again was almost too much to bear.

"What kind of question is that?" Ichigo grumbled, "Of course I want her back." Rukia gave him an impatient look, as though he was dancing all around the correct solution.

"Then if her religion is stopping her from accepting you, you have to appeal to it," Rukia said matter-of-factly, "It is not going to take care of itself, and you cannot ignore it. Taking Urahara to see her is the best thing to do." Ichigo sighed - he hated when Rukia made sense towards something he didn't want to do. And there was no telling what awful things Urahara would tell her or convince her to do. But if it meant getting her back once and for all, he would talk to the blond man.

"Alright," he muttered, his face set in a grim, determined line, "I'll go fetch him and when Chad gets back, we can go down to the village for her." As if on cue, the doors of the great hall banged open downstairs, drawing both Ichigo and Rukia's attention. "There he is now."

As they made their way down, though, it became evident that something was very wrong. There was clattering and the clamor of footsteps, as well as frantic voices blending together in a blur. Ichigo recognized Tatsuki, Uryuu, and Karin right away, and as he made his way down the stairs, he could see they were joined by Nemu. And all of them were hovering around Chad, who was kneeling on the floor and grasping his shoulder.

"What happened?" Ichigo demanded, practically flying down the stairs. They all turned to face him, except Tatsuki, who was trying to get keep Chad from losing any more blood than he already had. As Ichigo grew near, he could see the puddle seeping around his friend; it had to have been a silver wound.

"The carriage was attacked," Uryuu informed him quietly. The valet wasn't stupid; he knew Ichigo would fly into a rage at what he needed to tell him, and Ichigo could tell when his friend was stalling in telling him something that would potentially upset him.

"I can see that," Ichigo said, barely restraining his anger as dread began to creep up on him.

"Ichigo," Chad gasped, looking up at his friend from the floor, "It was the one you fought before. He took her."

Ichigo's eyes flashed with red hot fury. Without another word, he turned and started toward the castle's armory. He was going to settle this once and for all.

* * *

Orihime was brought slowly back to consciousness by two things.

The first was the dampness on her face. Her eyelids fluttered as she felt drop after drop of cold water splatter against her forehead and trickle down her cheeks. It was freezing, but it hadn't yet managed to turn to ice, for which she found herself hazily grateful.

The second was the biting cold. Even though she'd worn her thick wool petticoats and stockings, and her warm winter dress, she was still freezing. The cold was so profound and uncomfortable that it made her joints ache. Even her dress, which was now damp from the dripping water, was no real comfort; indeed, she thought it might have only been making her colder. Without thinking, she drew her knees up to her chest and began to shiver. Then, she scooted away from the infernal drip that had woken her up.

Finally taking the chance to look around, Orihime realized she was somewhere very dark. There was the blueish light of the night sky coming from somewhere vaguely to her right, but past that, all she could tell was that she was somewhere cold, dark, and at least out of the snow.

"Where am I?" she breathed to herself in fear and awe. The last thing she recalled was the man who had stopped the carriage and fought with Sado. Orihime didn't even know if he was still alive or not; this thought disturbed her deeply.

"Oh, here an' there," a male voice spoke to her from the shadows. Orihime gasped and jumped, startled, and instinctively tried to move away from it. As she looked around frantically for the source, she found that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. In the moonlight, she could just make out the outlines of rocks and a dirt floor; this was a cave.

Worse yet, there was a shifting mass moving along the cave roof. She could barely make out what it was at first, but as she listened, it dawned on her exactly what the squirming black carpet was made of: bats. She cringed, knowing they would come after her if she moved too quickly. Even so, she wanted to scoot as far away as possible from them.

"Who... Who's there?" she asked, much less fire in her voice than she'd anticipated.

At length, one of them detached itself from the mass and fluttered down. Orihime found she could see this one better because its fur was silvery-white and reflected the scarce starlight well. Right before her eyes, the bat began to transform, lengthening, hair and wings eroding, until it took on the shape of a man.

This man was taller than she, although not as tall as the Count. He was dressed all in white, from head to foot, with a straight mop of shaggy white hair atop his head. He was as pale as the snow outside, and with a shiver, Orihime realized exactly what she was looking at. This man was a vampire, the one the Count had mentioned was stalking her village.

"Me?" he finally answered, his glowing red eyes opening at last, "Oh, I'm just a friend o' yer sister's."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Fourteen  
**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness, religious topics. Should be read with the lights off.  
**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

**Author's Note:** I apologize for the wait for this chapter. As you've probably already noticed, FFnet has not been letting anyone in the IchiHime section (and many other sections) update for the past few days. It's pretty frustrating when the top fic in the IchiHime section for the week is a crappy IchiRuki piece that's been purposely mislabeled. On a more positive note, at least this means the wait time for the next chapter is now reduced?

* * *

"You're... You're Rangiku's friend?"

Orihime was huddled in on herself, knees drawn tight against her chest as she watched the vampire regard her in the dim light. He was smirking, his eerie red eyes thankfully closed, and still as a statue. Orihime wondered if such preternatural stillness was simply a vampire trait, or if it was unique to this particular one. Either way, he was stranger and more unsettling than any she had seen before.

"Oh, years an' years ago," he said dismissively. He plopped down on the floor of the cave right across from her and crossed his legs. Then, he regarded Orihime with a thoughtful look. "But that was way before _you_ came along."

Orihime felt a chill run down her spine. His voice was laced with jealousy and bitterness, just barely detectable but seething under the surface nonetheless. Rangiku had to have known him before Sora adopted her - she'd never seen this man before in her life.

"Is that... Is that why you took me?" she asked sheepishly. As she looked up at the man from underneath her lashes, she could see his unwavering crooked smile. The longer he smiled like that, the more worried she became. It was the kind of smile someone had when they were playing a trick on someone, or knew a particularly nasty secret.

"You?" he returned, cocking his head to the side, "Oh no, I took you to get back at those damned Kurosakis." His smirk had bloomed into a full-blown grin now, sharp teeth and all. Orihime realized with a shudder that unlike Sado, the Count, and the others, this vampire didn't bother hiding his fangs. Or maybe it was just indicative of his intentions.

"Why are you mad at them?" she asked innocently. Maybe if she could keep him talking, help would come? Perhaps the Count would realize she and Sado were missing and mount a rescue? She knew there wasn't much she could do on her own against this vampire, so all she could really hope for was help on the Count's end - or perhaps to be able to talk this vampire into letting her go.

"Why?" he asked with something of a sneer, "Take a look around yerself! Jus' how many people d'you think I've killed in that village? Twen'y? Thirty? An' the first time I even got noticed was when I came around _yer_ house!" Orihime's eyes widened as she realized he was right; he had been roaming free in the village, for as long as she could remember.

"This whole area is their territory," he said, spreading his arms wide, "But do they tend it? Of course not! They're too busy livin' it up in fancy Budapest to care about this little backwater! Jus' like all nobility."

This truly confused Orihime. It almost sounded like this vampire cared more about the villagers he had been killing than the vampires who were supposed to be protecting them. But then, why would he kill them in the first place?

"So you've been killing the people there all these years?" she asked, lip trembling, "You... You killed my brother? A-And Rangiku's family? Why?" At this, the vampire snorted.

"Jus' how old d'ya think I am?" he asked incredulously, propping an elbow on his upturned knee. Orihime thought for a second, looking sheepishly at him from beneath her hair.

"I-I don't know," she stammered, "Sixty?" She knew the Count was somewhere around that age, so it seemed like as good a guess as any. But the vampire simply chortled at her.

"I'm nineteen," he said, opening his red eyes, "Jus' like Rangiku."

* * *

Gin Ichimaru's family had been killed when he was just five years old. First his father failed to come home. Then his mother and baby sister were drained of their blood while he watched, hidden inside a small cupboard. After the culprit had finished, Gin could have sworn he looked straight at him and smiled, his ruddy brown eyes crinkling at the edges.

He wouldn't understand why until years later.

After they had been buried, Gin was placed in a common home with other children whose families had also been taken from them by the killings. But he found he didn't like it there; he snuck out to return to his family's home as often as he could until he finally just stopped coming back to the orphanage at all. He could tend the house by himself. He'd show them.

It was hard work by himself, but he mostly got by alright. As winter turned to spring, he found his family's food stores dwindling. At this point, he started stealing things from the other townspeople to survive. A chicken here, a potato there, sometimes an apple or pear; it wasn't much, but it was just enough to feed himself.

Then, shortly before the last snow melted, he met her. She was as dirty and bedraggled as he was and had taken shelter beside the woodpile he'd worked so hard to build by himself. Her pretty blonde hair had been matted together with oil and filth, and her white skin was smudged with soot and dirt.

He pulled her inside and cleaned her up, gave her some of his clothes to wear. He liked to think that if his little sister had lived, she would look just like her in a few years. But this girl, Rangiku, she became his new family. It was just the two of them against the world.

He found out that her family had died as well. Her father simply left one night and didn't return, while her mother simply withered away from illness. She'd also been taken to the orphanage, but the lady who'd taken her into her home treated her like a servant; she'd been made to do the wash for five people, clean the house from top to bottom every day, cook for the entire family, and even help in the fields, while the lady's own children rarely helped. If her chores weren't finished on time, or weren't done well enough, she was beaten; it was rare that the unkind lady deigned that the chores were done well enough, so Rangiku was likely to receive two or even three beatings in a day. Finally, she'd just had enough and decided to strike out on her own.

In some measure, it was good that Rangiku knew how to do those things, though. Gin was grateful for her; when she cooked the meals were better, they no longer had to want for clean clothes, and he now had help in stealing the things they needed to live. And as spring gave way to summer, things became brighter.

As the first fruits and vegetables began to ripen in the town's gardens, the two children had their share of good food to eat. First came strawberries. Then, as the weather got warmer, things like blackberries, squash, and carrots began to appear. Finally, towards the end of the season, corn and pumpkins. These were fat, happy times, and the children became close while enjoying the bounty.

They did everything together - they washed, played, cooked, worked, stole, and slept together. They were each other's sole family; they each believed that when they were grown, they'd continue just like this, as husband and wife.

But as the weather turned cool, their stores began to dwindle. Being children, they hadn't yet learned how to dry or cure meat or vegetables. They'd stashed away a bit of food and ate much less now, but even so they found their supplies completely depleted by the beginning of winter. By the time the ground was covered in snow, finding food was almost impossible.

Gin ate as little as he could, just to ensure Rangiku had enough to eat, but that only went so far. They both had to scavenge more frequently, and farther from home. Food was kept locked in cupboards and pantries now, and they got caught more often. Some days one of them would return home beaten; other days, both of them would.

Occasionally, a kindhearted old lady would give the children a loaf of bread or a piece of dried meat; those were happier days in the otherwise bleak landscape. They knew they couldn't always depend on that kindness, though; if they tried going back the next day, often the charitable person had no more to give, or didn't want to encourage them further. They did have something of a reputation by this point.

They both tried their best, though, and worked their hardest. Gin took to going out at night, after Rangiku had gone to sleep, and breaking into smokehouses and pantries to try and find food. It was on one of these nights that Gin finally met _him._

He wasn't from those parts, Gin could tell. He was dressed all in white, gleaming clothes, fine clothes like nothing Gin had ever seen before. His skin was pale and flawless, framed by his rich, mousy brown hair. And his eyes, ruddy and brown, looked kind at first glance but belied a kind of scheming malevolence. Everything about him shone like moonlight. The man was obviously a noble.

And Gin recognized him immediately. This was the man who killed his mother and sister.

Gin braced himself to fight, but to his surprise, the man did not attack. Instead, he simply smiled, flashing his sharp teeth, and held a hand out to Gin. Mesmerized, Gin hesitantly took it. And that was when his life changed forever.

The man's name was Sousuke Aizen, and he was a Duke from Spain. Before Gin knew exactly what was happening, he was being loaded into a waiting carriage on the outskirts of the forest and hauled away with him.

As it turned out, Aizen hunted in this area frequently during the winter. He often had to pass through on his many business trips, and knew the castle belonging to the Kurosaki family had been abandoned for years. Their negligence provided good hunting for him year after year.

He had spared Gin the previous year, intending to return straight away and collect him. He was a handsome boy and looked like he could potentially make good stock someday, and being young, he would be highly impressionable. But he had lost track of him after he entered the orphanage, and had simply decided to try and find him when he stopped back through the next year. Of course, Aizen didn't tell Gin any of this until years later, and by that point Gin had figured most of it out on his own anyway.

From there, they left the village behind and headed to Spain. As Aizen's hypnosis wore off of Gin and his mind came back to itself, one thought plagued his mind. He had abandoned Rangiku, and had no way of knowing how she was. And even though he never spoke of it, for fear of what Aizen might do to her, that thought remained in the back of his mind for years.

His own life was far different from what he'd experienced in the village, though. Gin was given the finest clothes and food, private tutors, and was generally spoiled as far as he was concerned. He turned out to be highly intelligent; within months, he'd become fluent in Spanish and had moved on to French and then Italian. He was taught how to ride horses, how to fence, and everything Aizen knew about vampires and ghouls.

Because of the older vampire's lack of anything resembling morals, he'd conducted many experiments with ghouls and with the creation of such. He knew exactly how far the rules concerning them could be bent, what sorts of things they could and couldn't do, what all they could eat, how they thought, and even how they rested and healed. And he taught Gin everything he knew about them, one way or the other.

When he turned fourteen, Aizen began to demonstrate for him just how far a human could go without being made into a ghoul when they were finally turned. He started small - a touch here or there, a surreptitious rub - and worked his way up. He showed Gin what could be done with hands and mouth, how that would affect him, and what awaited him once he turned sixteen.

Far from being dazzled by it all, Gin simply played along. He knew Aizen wanted a companion out of him, but he had plans of his own. Once he became a vampire, it would only be a matter of time until he could set his plan into motion. And finally, when he turned sixteen, Aizen gave him what he wanted; true to his word, Aizen finally turned him into a vampire.

Suddenly, all the feelings he'd been secretly nursing for years were so much stronger. His hatred for Aizen, he could keep covered. But his grudge against the happy, stupid, neglectful Kurosaki family, _that_ was something he could barely keep from boiling to the surface. After he had been turned, he even met them once at a formal function in Vienna. The two insipid girls, the arrogant son, the vacant mother, and worst of all, the buffoon of a father; Aizen had to pull him aside before he did something regrettable.

Most of all, though, he yearned for Rangiku. He hadn't seen her in years - Aizen hadn't permitted the boy to go along with him on his trips to the Carpathians - but since he was now allowed to travel with his lord, he counted the days until they'd pass back through his old hometown and see her again. And hopefully, he'd be able to escape Aizen's clutches while he was there. But when he finally arrived back in his village, nothing was as he thought it'd be.

Rangiku had grown up just as striking and lovely as he'd always imagined, true. But it hadn't gone unnoticed by the men in the village. She was particularly close to one, an affable-enough young man with chin-length black hair and a nice smile. Rangiku lived with him and another child, this one a young girl with red hair. Gin assumed she was the man's sister or niece. He hated the two of them on sight.

So instead of following Aizen's orders to stay close to him, he stole away to the little cottage the three lived in during the night and waited until the man emerged. When he finally did - it looked like he was fetching firewood - Gin quickly set upon him. Before the man had realized what was happening, Gin's teeth were in his neck, tearing flesh and opening veins. And within a few minutes, the man dropped to the ground, as cold as the snow beneath him.

By that time, Aizen had caught up to him, though. Oh, he'd taken a scolding, but it was well worth it. Still, he'd have to wait another two years before he could break free of his master's grasp.

Finally, Gin's chance came and he seized it. He'd intentionally gotten separated from Aizen's traveling party while in the western part of Hungary. Before Aizen was any the wiser what had happened, Gin was already several days ahead of him. He'd quickly taken wing and made it back to his hometown in a matter of days.

He'd taken up residence in this very cave. Even though he had become accustomed to elegant living, he knew quite well that all a vampire needed to get by was an ample food supply, a dark place to sleep during the day, and some of the earth in which they had once been interred. From there, he set his plan into motion.

He had terrorized the village for months, killing anyone who dared set foot outside after dark. This was his revenge, against the town that had turned its back on him, and the lazy nobles who'd allowed another vampire to run lose in their territory.

Gin had even managed to catch Rangiku a few times, coming home from her job at the local inn. It was always the same, every time; he'd make her swoon, feed a bit, and then get interrupted and have to let her go. The wounds always healed themselves quickly, but it was a frustrating game nonetheless. All he wanted was to kill wantonly throughout the town, and to take Rangiku with him, but he could never seem to get the last piece of the puzzle to fall into place.

It didn't help that the redhaired girl he'd seen three years prior was still with her. He'd much rather she step outside at night where he could get her, but she always seemed to stay in the house after dark. He fantasized about it; once he was rid of that little pest, Rangiku would be his again and he would have no trouble taking her with him.

But then came a stroke of luck. A carriage arrived one night from the Kurosaki estate and took the meddling girl away. So now not only were some of the Kurosaki family around for him to exact revenge on, but they'd also removed his last obstacle for him. But even _that_ didn't work out as well as he'd hoped. As soon as the girl left, another person took her place.

This time, it was the black-haired blacksmith Gin had seen sometimes talk to Rangiku. This one _really_ angered him. Unlike the girl, this man's intentions were clear: he wanted Rangiku. Didn't he know she was already spoken for? Gin fumed for days as he watched the blacksmith come and go, just barely escaping his wrath each time. Just when it was finally dark enough for Gin to strike, the other man would move to safety, out of his reach. This went on for weeks until Gin finally realized that he didn't need to kill the interloper; he'd simply take Rangiku and then have her do it.

So he came up with a simple plan. He waited until the both of them were fast asleep, then he crept around the side of the house and unfastened one of the shutters. He clattered and clamored with it, banging it against the window frame as hard as he could without splintering it. And it worked; soon enough, the woman he was after came peering around the corner to find the noisy window.

Once again, he had her. Even if her blood wasn't as sweet as it could've been had she still been a virgin, in that moment, she was his alone. But before he could do much more than take a sip, that damned Kurosaki caught him.

They fought tooth and nail, as though the redhead was also protecting something. Gin could only surmise the other vampire cared simply because this was the house the girl he had sent for had come from. If that was the case, then that girl was probably important to him. But it didn't matter that night; the fight drug on for the better part of an hour while the Kurosakis' Spaniard drug Rangiku to safety, then flew off for help.

Finally, as the sky began to lighten, Gin retreated back to his cave. But not before he'd taken a good shot at the Kurosaki brat - he'd had enough foresight to bring one of Aizen's finest silver daggers with him when he'd parted ways with him. He had made good use of it, for sure. He only hoped the redhead would bleed until he was nothing but a dried-up husk. And maybe one day, he could even use it on Aizen himself.

Alas, soon afterward he'd caught scent of several other vampires in the area. The rest of the family seemed to have descended upon the old castle. He was hemmed into his cave, careful not to make too much ruckus or venture too far with all the extra attention around him. As it turned out, he shouldn't have even worried; the Kurosakis were far too absorbed in their own petty squabbles to care much about him.

And finally, just when he was beginning to lose hope that the family of interlopers would _ever_ leave, they sent that same girl he'd had his eye on back down the castle road.

* * *

Orihime stared, wide-eyed, at the smiling silver-haired man before her. His story was sad, to be sure; he'd had no choice in what he became and of how his life had gone. But at the same time, he'd also become sadistic and twisted himself. He'd taken his unfortunate circumstances out on the innocent people around him. Her eyes welled with tears.

"So..." she began slowly, "Now that you have me, what are... what are you going to do with me?" Orihime could guess at the answer, but if his story had taught her anything, it was that he didn't think quite predictably.

"Oh, you?" he asked innocently, "I thought I'd make you into a ghoul." A crease formed between Orihime's eyebrows as she took that answer in. It wasn't what she was expecting, to say the least.

"B-But I'm still a virgin," she said softly, not liking where this conversation was headed. Gin simply smiled, baring his fangs, and leaned toward her.

"I know," he said simply. Orihime felt a chill run down her spine as she huddled in on herself in disbelief. Just as she was about to protest, the silver-haired man leaned back and gave her an almost friendly grin.

"Just kidding!" he said lightly. Orihime felt like she'd been doused in ice water. He was only joking? About something like _that_? "You didn't really believe that, didya?"

"Y-Yes?" she replied sheepishly, "But then, what are you..?"

"Well, t' tell ya the truth," he said with a shrug, "I thought I'd jus' feed on ya, then throw yer corpse in Kurosaki's courtyard." Orihime got the distinct feeling he wasn't joking this time.

"But... what about Rangiku?" she asked, hoping she could at least stall him for time, "She'll be sad if I die." He raised an eyebrow as though considering this for a second before shrugging again.

"Nah," he dismissed her, "Once we're together, all she'll need is me." Something else occurred to Orihime, as though she'd just realized it.

"But she can't be a vampire anymore!" she exclaimed, "She would just become a ghoul! You can't... If you love her, you won't do that to her!" Gin looked unmoved.

"What do ya think a ghoul actually is?" he asked, cocking his head to the side, "Those Kurosakis probably fed you that line about them bein' mindless or soulless or somethin', huh?" Orihime looked sheepishly up at him. It was true; all she knew of ghouls, she'd learned from Tatsuki and, by extension, Nemu.

"That's not it," he said as though he were giving her a little lesson, "They retain their personality. It's just clouded by hunger most of the time. They haveta like ya t' wanna follow ya in the first place, or they disobey." Orihime processed this information. Didn't Nemu only obey Uryuu? If that was the case, she must've been attached to him as a human.

"S-So you think Rangiku will... love you as a ghoul?" she asked quietly, "But... But if you kill the people she loves..." Gin's face turned grim.

"She'll get over it," he said firmly, "It won't matter any more, once we're together." Orihime glanced skittishly off to the side, contemplating whether she really wanted to tell him what she was thinking or not.

"But I... I've lived with her for thirteen years," Orihime replied softly, "And she never mentioned you before." As soon as she'd uttered them, she knew those were exactly the wrong words to say.

"Liar!" Gin snarled, his face contorting into a mask of rage, "Yer jus' tryin' t' trick me!" A pale hand shot out, clasping tightly around Orihime's throat. As stars flashed before her eyes, his grip grew firmer. He was cutting off her air supply and shaking her at the same time.

"Instead of bitin' ya, why don't I jus' snap yer pretty li'l neck?" he growled, giving her another hard shake. He was inhumanly strong, and all she could do was try weakly to pry his hand away from her throat with her feeble hands.

Suddenly, though, Gin froze. His grip neither tightened nor loosened; rather, it was perfectly still. Orihime struggled to gasp for air to no avail. He was still strangling her.

Then, just as suddenly as he'd begun, Gin tossed her aside like an old toy, flinging her into the sloped wall of the cave. As her back cracked against the rock, Orihime drew in a sharp breath, eager to refill her lungs with the air of which they'd been deprived.

"Ah well," Gin tutted, drawing something sharp and gleaming from his belt, "Looks like yer little lover finally caught up t'us. Guess I didn't hide my tracks as well as I thought I did! Oops!" His voice betrayed a smile, as though he'd left a trail on purpose. As Orihime opened her aching eyes, she saw the silver dagger in his right hand catching the moonlight.

"Just stay put," he said lightly, "I'll be back for ya in a bit."


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Fifteen  
**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness, religious topics. Should be read with the lights off.  
**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

* * *

Soft snow crunched beneath Ichigo's feet as he landed on the hillside before the darkened cave. Uryuu landed softly beside him, his long coat ruffling around his legs. He had been carrying Tatsuki on his back the entire time; it had slowed Uryuu down some, but it wasn't as if the kidnapper's scent had been hard to find.

It was a bit shocking, really. This vampire had thus far been very careful to hide his scent and cover his tracks. But when Ichigo and the others had come across the overturned and splintered carriage, the intruder had done everything short of opening a vein over the wreckage. He hadn't bothered covering his own scent, nor had he bothered hiding Orihime's. Even if he had covered his own trail, Ichigo would've still been able to scent her anywhere.

His hand tightly held the black grip of the ancient sword he'd taken from his family's armory. It was shining black steel, glinting dully in the moon's pale light; it had been impregnated with small amounts of silver during the smithing process - just enough to make it deadly to their own kind, but not enough to weaken the blade. Ichigo was tired of piddling around with this fellow; he meant business.

"He's in there," he said quietly, eyes fixed on the darkened entrance of the cave. Uryuu and Tatsuki turned to see where he'd indicated, Tatsuki squinting to see in the dull light.

"We should draw him out and away from Miss Inoue," Uryuu observed, watching as Ichigo struggled to keep from running forward. His valet knew very well how impulsive the Count could be, especially when something as important as Orihime was on the line for him. But Ichigo also acknowledged that the stakes were now too high for him to behave rashly; he needed to keep his wits about him and move strategically, even as much as hated it.

"When he comes out," Tatsuki said through gritted teeth, "I'll pull Orihime out." She touched a solid coil inside her coat that she'd brought just for Orihime; Ichigo knew she was determined to save her first and best friend.

"Looks like we don't have to wait that long after all," Ichigo growled. There was movement near the entrance to the cave, a rustling of reflective cloth that picked up the pale light and cast it right back at them. In fact, the white creature that emerged from the cave almost blended into the snowdrifts on the hillside. As he came into the moonlight and unfolded to his full height, Ichigo caught his scent carried on the wind; his eyes went wide as he realized that he recognized this vampire. But where from?

"'Bout time ya got here, Kurosaki," the white-haired man said with a mocking smile, "I was about t' think ya didn't care what I did with that human girl." At the mention of Orihime, Ichigo's eyes flashed with fury.

"Where is she?" Ichigo practically roared. He had no patience for games like these. But the other man's smile didn't waver. It made Ichigo want to hit him even more.

"Isn't it obvious?" the kidnapper asked cheerily, "Although maybe ya should be askin' what I've done with 'er instead?" Ichigo's eyes widened before he took a step forward.

"What did you do to her?" he demanded, "Tell me!" The other man's grin only grew wider.

"Who knows?" he said with a shrug, "Maybe she's already dead. Maybe she's dying right now. Maybe I turned her inta a ghoul!" At this, Ichigo lost what little self-control he had remaining. He nearly lunged for the white-haired man until a firm hand on his arm halted his forward momentum. He turned to see Uryuu glaring stonily at him.

"He's baiting you, Ichigo," he said firmly, shaking his head, "If anything happened to her, we'd be able to smell it." Ichigo realized suddenly that Uryuu was right; if she'd been hurt, he'd be able to smell the blood. His gaze snapped back to the man who was now laughing at his anger.

"You should listen t'him, Kurosaki!" he said, the knife Ichigo had failed to notice until just then glistening brightly in the moonlight, "But I guess ya can't help it. After all, you only care now that I got someone close t' ya, right?" This gave Ichigo pause, although it didn't lessen his anger. Who exactly was this man, to make personal comments like that?

"Just what is that supposed to mean?" he growled. He could feel Tatsuki tense behind him; she was just as ready to move as he was. But he knew that wasn't the plan. She was only to move once Ichigo and Uryuu engaged the enemy.

"D'you have any idea how long I've been in that li'l village, pickin' those cattle off?" the white-haired man asked gleefully, "Longer than you been in that fancy ol' castle up the hill, that's fer sure!" Ichigo's eyes widened again before narrowing to dangerous slits.

"How many of our peasants have you gotten?" he snarled. Ichigo had to admit that when they first came back to his ancestral home months ago, he had no idea another vampire had already moved into their territory. He really did only just notice when Chad brought it to his attention, after bringing Orihime's sister her money.

"Oh, couple dozen," the other vampire said with a nonchalant shrug, "At least! Who knows?" Ichigo hissed low under his breath; those peasants belonged to his family for generations. For this vampire to knowingly walk in and start killing them was practically an open act of war.

Even stranger, this vampire seemed to be acting alone. Perhaps he was just a poor, misbegotten soul whose sire had abandoned him, but Ichigo suspected that wasn't the case. It was very rare for vampires to be completely solitary, and Ichigo knew there were no other unfamiliar vampires in the area. What was his story?

"Why are you doing this?" Ichigo finally asked, "Who are you?" The white-haired vampire just gave him a crooked grin. His teeth flashed maliciously across the snow field at them.

"Maybe if yer family was int'rested in protectin' that village like it was s'pposed ta, ya'd already know!" The other vampire no longer sounded mocking or jovial - he simply sounded angry and bitter. Before Ichigo could ask what he meant, his foe launched himself at him, lips pulled back in a snarl.

As the white-haired man closed the distance and Ichigo parried his dagger, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Tatsuki had taken off, sprinting across the snow towards where they'd scented Orihime. His opponent either didn't notice or didn't care, instead focusing the brunt of his anger on Ichigo and his blade. That was fine with Ichigo; as long as Orihime was safely rescued, that was all that mattered to him.

* * *

Orihime's head throbbed. She gingerly felt where she'd banged it against the cave wall, appreciating the little knot that had formed there. Thankfully, there seemed to be no blood. She knew she'd be in trouble if there was, with the angry vampires now dueling outside.

Still, without her captor watching over her, she now had a chance to escape. She wasn't exactly sure where she'd go or how far she'd get on foot, but she had to try. If she could reach either her sister or the castle from wherever she was now, she knew she'd be safe. And as much as she wished she could help Ichigo right now, she knew there was nothing she could do against the white-haired man on her own. She'd do much better to try and get to safety instead of interfering with them.

Slowly, she began to make her way toward the opening of the cave on hands and knees. As the dirt and rocks dug into her skin, her hand landed on something soft. Feeling around on it, she realized it was a large, stuffed piece of cloth.

"A pillow?" Orihime asked quietly, picking it up and trying to focus on it. In the dim light of the cave, she could vaguely make out a human form. The longer she looked at it, it finally registered to her that she was looking at a little girl's ragdoll. Why would a grown male vampire have something like that?

Orihime put the doll into the apron of her dress and kept moving toward the entrance of the cave. Finally, just as she was about to emerge into the moonlight, a figure stepped in front of her. She gasped and tried to scoot back as far as she could, but she was too slow. A warm hand grasped her wrist and pulled her forward.

"Tatsuki?" she asked as the black-haired girl pulled her out of the cave and to her feet. She gave Orihime a crooked grin and brushed some of the dust off her friend's peasant dress.

"Here," Tatsuki said breathlessly, reaching into her coat and pulling out a strand of garlic, "Put this around your neck. I'm getting you out of here." Orihime ducked as Tatsuki looped the garlic over the back of her neck, then followed her black-haired friend as she began to lead her across the snow.

* * *

As Ichigo parried another blow, the white-haired man before him grinned. He was being pressed back by him, despite all of his years of training and experience with using a sword. Then again, besides their last bout, he hadn't actually done anything but spar in years. His opponent, on the other hand, seemed to have trained just for this night.

Uryuu was standing to the side to await orders in case Ichigo fell or needed him to call for backup. This fight was strictly Ichigo's, and he had been instructed not to interfere. Just in case, though, the valet was armed with a collapsible crossbow. As Ichigo struggled with his smaller, faster opponent, his valet stood at the ready.

Finally, Ichigo delivered a kick to the other vampire's gut, sending him stumbling back through the snow. He righted himself in a shower of white powder, causing Ichigo to step back to avoid it hitting his eyes.

"You ain't the only one that's had trainin', ya know," he drawled, mocking Ichigo again, "I might not sound like it, but I've had it pretty good the past few years!" Ichigo's eyes widened. Suddenly, he recalled where he'd met this man before.

It was two or three years ago in Vienna. His father had drug him to the formal function for some inane reason that Ichigo had already forgotten. The creme of the nobility had all been there, vampire and human alike, and Ichigo could not have been less interested. But he certainly noticed one of Duke Aizen's attendants glaring daggers at him. He had thought to say something to the white-haired boy before Aizen pulled him aside, but when he had the chance, he had already vanished.

"You're Aizen's man!" Ichigo exclaimed, causing the other man's face to split into another deranged grin.

"You remembered!" he mocked, "I'm touched!" Before the conversation could continue, though, Ichigo caught sight of movement out of the corner of his eye. Several paces behind his opponent, he could make out Tatsuki leading Orihime away from the cave. Unfortunately, the other man noticed as well, following Ichigo's line of sight to the girls. Before he could even move, the white-haired vampire had taken advantage of the situation.

He was on them in a flash, kicking a flurry of snow up in his wake. Before any of them knew what was happening, he had slammed Tatsuki into a nearby rock and grabbed Orihime by the neck.

"Well, well," he cooed, bringing his dagger up to the disoriented girl's throat, "Yer doin' a pretty bad job at this hostage thing, you know that?" Ichigo watched helplessly as Orihime struggled, the knife biting into her flesh. As the blade dug into her skin, he caught scent of her blood from across the way, causing his gut to wrench. He could feel the heat rising to his face and knew his eyes were clouding over with black ichor. If this kept up, he could lose all control.

Across the snow, however, his opponent had a different problem. He crinkled his nose as he pressed Orihime against him, noting a foul smell he hadn't noticed before.

"Is that garlic?" he asked in disgust, loosening his hold on the squirming girl, "Did that other girl give you that? We'll have ta get rid of it..." Orihime gasped as he moved the dagger from her throat and toward the string of garlic; she could tell he intended to drag the strand away without touching it. Then she'd be completely defenseless.

Desperately, she reached up and grabbed one of the bulbs from the string, squeezing it as hard as she could. When she was sure she'd broken at least a clove and the juice was free from it, she reached over her shoulder with it. She didn't know where she was aiming with it, but she hoped it would at least contact Gin in some way.

As it turned out, Orihime's aim was even better than she'd hoped for. She socked him right in the eye, causing him to immediately drop his dagger and his hold on her, and stumble back. He clawed at the offended eye, yowling in pain.

"You little tramp!" he shrieked, attempting to open his quickly swelling eye as he bared his teeth, "I'll kill you!" Before he could lunge at her, though, Orihime was pulled out of the way.

She turned to see Tatsuki holding her shoulders and pulling her back far enough to get out of Gin's path. And in another second, she saw why.

Ichigo had flown across the snow, sword bared and terrifying black and gold eyes flashing. She recognized those eyes from the night he'd bitten her; whatever had caused him to become like that again, she knew the fight was about to be over. And so did Gin.

Gin raised his head to see the angry nobleman flying at him. He had just enough time to realize what was happening and smile.

"Go ahead, then," he said with a smirk, "Do it."

And in one clean stroke, his head was gone.

Orihime and Tatsuki looked on, frozen, as the decapitated body collapsed to the ground. The crisp, white snow bloomed red under the moonlight as the vampire's body drained of its blood. Uryuu simply observed from the side, waiting to see how he'd be needed.

Finally, after a few moments of heavy breathing, Ichigo turned to face the girls. The black was slowly beginning to drain from his eyes, returning them to their normal woody brown color. As he regarded them, he began to smile shakily.

"Orihime?" he croaked, "Are you well?" Forgetting all else, Orihime wavered for just a second before breaking free of Tatsuki's grip and running to him. Even though he was too tired to move from his spot, he held his arms open for her and folded her into his embrace as soon as she reached him.

"I was afraid you-" she stammered, tears falling in rivulets down her cheeks, "B-But you're fine now! I'm so glad!" Orihime had buried her face in Ichigo's shirt, completely oblivious to his obvious, growing discomfort.

"Ori-Orihime," he wheezed, pulling at the back of her dress, "Garlic!" At this, Orihime backed away, eyes wide, and hurriedly divested herself of the herb.

"I-I'm sorry!" she cried, her eyes pleading, "I forgot I had it on! I-!" Before she could continue, Ichigo wrapped his arms around her again and buried his nose in her hair.

"Hush," he said quietly, "Now that that's gone, I'm never letting you out of my sight again." Orihime blinked and strained to look up at him.

"But Count, I-I thought-" she stammered, heart hammering in her chest. In response, Ichigo only held her tighter.

"No buts," he said firmly against her crown, "You aren't allowed to say no this time." After another few moments, he felt her pulse begin to slow.

"Alright," she said quietly, "I'll go back with you. I just... I want to talk to the priest, i-if that's alright with you." Ichigo placed a cool kiss against her head.

"We were already discussing it when Chad came in," he said quietly. Tatsuki and Uryuu had begun to move, Uryuu transforming into a bat and taking wing back to the castle. Ichigo figured he was going to fetch the spare carriage; they would also need to dispose of this body properly.

"I-Is Mr. Sado alright?" Orihime asked, voice full of concern. Ichigo pulled back and smiled at her warmly.

"He'll be fine," Ichigo said firmly, pulling her under the crook of his arm, "He made it home safely." He could feel Orihime sigh with relief beside him; leave it to her to worry about someone else when she'd almost been killed herself.

"Home," Orihime said thoughtfully, and Ichigo realized what she was getting at. She now thought of the castle as her home as much as her and Rangiku's little house down in the village. "When we get home, I have to tell you about him," she said sadly, "His name was Gin Ichimaru, a-and he was from this village."

The shock of this revelation traveled up Ichigo's spine, offsetting the little thrill he got from Orihime referring to his house as her home. If he was from their village, he didn't attack it at random. And if he came from their village, that meant someone had to have created him. And Ichigo already had a good idea of whom.

"You can tell me everything when we get back," he said, determination glinting in his eyes, "I'm just glad you're safe."


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Sixteen  
**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness, religious topics. Should be read with the lights off.  
**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

**Author's Note:**I AM SO SORRY! It's been two and a half weeks since I updated, and I feel horrible for it! But my shift changed again at work, as well as my workplace (again), and it's been hard for me to adjust this time. But I finally got this chapter done! Hopefully I'll be able to pick the pace back up again and readjust to continue at my former pace. I hope.

* * *

The red flames flickered in the early morning darkness of the castle grounds, reaching skyward. Two pairs of eyes watched, spellbound, as the pyre bore its contents onto the wind. Shadows flickered across their faces as they stood side-by-side with hands intertwined.

This was Gin Ichimaru's funeral pyre. The Count had insisted the body be disposed of in this manner, lest it somehow recover. Orihime had been unable to do anything but agree since she had no idea how these creatures worked. Still, she trusted the Count and knew that what he was doing was for the best.

With heavy heart, she had recounted to him what the white-haired vampire had told her earlier, from his youth in their town to how he'd come back and what he'd been doing. While the Count seemed angry, his fury was dulled by something Orihime was sure was close to sorrow.

"This really is all our fault," he'd finally said, squeezing her hand, "This is our territory, but at every turn, we failed this town." Orihime squeezed back; she knew that what she had to say next wouldn't be pleasant, but it needed to be said.

"I won't disagree with you," she said quietly, "It's the nobility's job to care for their people, isn't it? But... I don't hold any ill will towards you or your family. You aren't malicious. But... you still need to make sure this doesn't happen again." Her words were soft, but firm. She showed the Count a steely determination she rarely exhibited, but to Orihime, this was important. No matter where she lived, the village was still where she came from and where her sister lived; she wanted to make sure it was safe. As his eyes met hers, though, they were tender.

"It won't," he promised, "Not if I have anything to say about it." Orihime searched his face for the meaning of his words.

"What do you mean?" she asked. He broke eye contact to look back into the flames.

"I'll inform my father of this and let him know I and my entourage will be staying," he said firmly, "Aizen is sure to come back through for a snack eventually. I'm not going to let him have even one more of our flock." Orihime let out a little sigh as she looked off to the side.

"We aren't sheep, you know," she pouted. The Count simply gave her an amused grin.

"You're as wobbly and innocent as a lamb," he teased, "Does that count?" Orihime tried valiantly to maintain her pout, but the mental image of a newborn lamb wobbling around on its knobby legs finally made her crack a smile.

"No," she said with playful firmness. The Count simply looked back toward the fire with his small smile.

"I have one condition, though," he finally said softly, "If we are to stay and look after the town, I want you with me." Orihime's eyebrows knitted together at this.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said skeptically, "I'll still be here." The Count gave her a searching look before he continued.

"No, I mean..." he began, a sluggish blush rising to his cheeks, "I mean I want you here as my _wife_. As the Countess of this castle." Orihime's eyes grew round. They had been so wrapped up in taking care of Gin and all of the problems he'd brought attention to that Orihime had forgotten entirely about her own problems. She opened her mouth to form words and shut it again silently.

"I-I don't know yet," she said softly, looking up into the Count's sad eyes, "I wanted to talk to the priest first..." He nodded, squeezing her hand.

"He's in the chapel," the Count replied, "He was writing the ceremony for Rukia's and my wedding when we left to get you." At this information, Orihime's brow knitted.

"Your wedding?" she asked skeptically. The Count's face pinched in annoyance.

"As soon as he heard you'd gone, the old man told me he'd brought Rukia as a replacement," he clarified, "She was livid. In fact, she insisted I fetch you right away, even before we learned you'd been attacked." Orihime blinked as she took it all in.

"I imagine she would be," she said sympathetically, "She said her valet was trying to gain her brother's approval." The Count snorted.

"He's been trying for years," he responded, "That poncy bastard can't stand the idea of marrying his sister to someone of common blood, let alone someone who isn't a born vampire." Orihime contemplated this for a moment before she asked the next question that crossed her mind.

"Do you think that'll be a problem for us?" she asked sincerely, "Your father won't be angry if he finds out I'm not really a noble, will he?" At this, the Count grinned.

"Who says he's going to find out?" he asked cheekily, "And anyway, once we're married, he can't say anything about it." This answer satisfied Orihime; once they were married, the church would allow nothing short of an annulment, and that was easily enough avoided. Besides which, as she thought about it, the Marquis really should have been the last person to complain. As she remembered the Marquise's story, her face colored slightly. The Count noticed and his mischievous smile widened.

"You know, if you're already thinking about it," he leaned down far enough to speak quietly in her ear, "You should go ahead and speak to Urahara." Orihime caught the gist of what he was getting at and her mouth dropped open in protest.

"Count Kurosaki!" she exclaimed, only about half of her embarrassment just for show, "We aren't married yet!" Encouraged by her discomfort, the Count nipped at the lobe of her ear, letting a sharp canine graze the flesh.

"That doesn't mean I can't think about when we _are_," he purred. Orihime thought she might have been blushing down to her toes.

"I-I have to go now," she squeaked, walking quickly and mechanically toward the garden door. The Count didn't follow, instead opting to stay behind and watch with a lopsided grin as she moved toward the stone walls.

"Make sure to change into your gowns," he called after, causing Orihime to stop and turn back toward him, "It isn't fitting for the wife of a Count to wear such things." Mortified, Orihime suddenly remembered that she had been standing there in the garden in her woolen petticoats and brown peasant dress the entire time. If his family saw her, they both would be in trouble.

As she rushed through some quick back passages Tatsuki had shown her some weeks back, an odd thought occurred to Orihime. When she first arrived to this castle almost a month ago, the lovely clothes frightened her. They were too fine and too expensive for her to even want to touch, let alone wear on a daily basis. Now, though, her peasant dress felt almost as odd to her as those fancy gowns once had. It was loose and comfortable and the fabric coarse and light. Something about it was still freeing, but at the same time it had become awkward, like it didn't fit her anymore.

Orihime put such thoughts aside as she reached the safety of her room. There would be time for rumination on her changing tastes later; for now, she had to make herself presentable for the priest and any of the Count's family that happened to be nearby.

* * *

Orihime had barely finished twisting up her hair when a knock came at her door. She turned from the vanity to see it creak open just a hair's breadth.

"I'm telling you, Ichigo probably waylayed her and they're off in his chambers!" a male voice said heatedly. After a few seconds of searching her memory, Orihime recognized it as belonging to the Marquise Kuchiki's valet, Renji.

"Don't be ridiculous!" the Marquise whispered back, "He cannot do anything personal until she has been turned. And he would not dare while surrounded by his family, anyway." Orihime felt her persistent blush returning; never in all her sixteen years had her love life and the state of her body been discussed as much as it had been in the last week. Fortunately, that was the last the Marquise had to say on the subject before cracking the door further open and projecting her voice.

"Miss Inoue, dear," she called, "Are you here?" Orihime smiled at the address as she turned in her seat.

"Yes, I'm at the vanity," she answered, watching as Rukia and Renji entered. She noted the redhead's pale blush as the black-haired girl ran to her; he must have realized he'd been overheard.

"We heard Ichigo brought you back," the petite woman said excitedly, "But we hadn't gotten a chance to see you ourselves! Are you well?" Orihime beamed at her, grateful for her concern.

"I'm as well as can be expected," she said, "It was pretty scary, but the Count saved me. I'm glad I came back, though. I heard the Marquis was going to make you marry the Count..." Rukia took the bait and her countenance immediately became fierce. Orihime didn't blame the Count one bit for shrinking from marrying the small woman; she was incredibly frightening when she was angry.

"That lowly country bumpkin!" she hissed as she began to pace, "He presumed to arrange this all without my consent or knowledge! Can you imagine? The nerve! The outright gall!" Renji smirked a bit as he watched her pace and curse the Marquis Kurosaki with every word in her highly educated vocabulary. A thought struck Orihime as she watched the tirade, and when Rukia had finally come to a good stopping point, she finally spoke up.

"Mr. Abarai?" she asked innocently, "Do you like forceful women?" The question had taken both Renji and Rukia by surprise, causing them to stare at Orihime openly. Orihime was simply proud of her deduction and smiled as the pair blushed at her.

"Well, I suppose he does," Rukia muttered as Renji cleared his throat in mild amusement.

"I think it's sweet," Orihime remarked with a smile. Those two really did seem to be perfect for one another. Presently, though, Rukia's eyes snapped open as though she'd just remembered something.

"Ah, that reminds me," she said, regaining her composure, "I wanted to thank you. For returning with Ichigo." Now it was Orihime's turn to blush.

"I-It was nothing," she murmured shyly, her cheeks coloring, "It was just a misunderstanding. That's all." Rukia gave her a warm smile before coming over to embrace her.

"Do not worry," Rukia whispered to her, still loud enough for Renji to hear, "Ichigo told me everything." Orihime's eyes went wide.

"E-Everything?" she stammered in return. Rukia nodded and broke their embrace to look directly at Orihime's face. She even cupped the younger girl's cheek with one pale, porcelain hand.

"Yes, everything," she affirmed, "Your secret is safe with us. We will aid you in any way we can." Orihime simply stared for a few seconds before finding her resolve and nodding strongly.

"I'll help you, too," Orihime vowed, "All you have to do is ask!" Rukia smiled again and drew back, offering Orihime the hand that had been on her cheek to help her up.

"Where were you headed?" Rukia asked, pulling her over to Renji's side with her. The redhead grinned as he took both their arms automatically and tucked them into the crooks of his elbows.

"I was about to go see the priest," Orihime answered from across Renji, "I-I wanted to speak with him before I go any further." Rukia looked satisfied about something, but Orihime couldn't begin to guess what.

"Did Ichigo suggest that?" she asked smugly. Orihime blinked once or twice before shaking her head.

"He did, but I was already telling Mr. Sado to turn around when we were attacked," she confessed, which brought another question to mind. "Oh no! How is Mr. Sado doing?"

"He is recovering," Rukia answered across Renji's chest, "Miss Kurotsuchi is tending to him." Orihime smiled shyly, glad their large friend was going to be alright.

The journey to the chapel passed pleasantly enough. The two girls chatted happily, occasionally asking Renji's opinion on one matter or the other. Finally, when they reached the chapel, Orihime parted from the couple.

"Oh, you don't have to wait for me," she said, turning from the chapel door when she realized they weren't moving. Rukia simply smiled while Renji blushed a bit.

"Actually, we have business with Urahara, too," Renji said shyly. Rukia nodded, her grin turning mischievous.

"We wanted to wait until you were done," she agreed, encouraging Orihime to go with a wave of her hand, "Do not worry. This is a private matter."

"Oh!" Orihime exclaimed in sudden understanding, even though she still wasn't sure what they wanted with the priest. She gave a polite little bow and turned back to the door, blushing.

The chapel was much the same as she remembered it from her last visit, although as Orihime looked around, she could see subtle changes. Now the alter was decorated with candles and fine cloth, and gold and bronze ornaments hung from the walls. The lonely pewter candelabras that used to hang from the rafters had been replaced with gold and crystals. And the pews had been decorated with long swaths of cloth and ribbons bunched into flowers. Orihime realized belatedly that the chapel had been decorated, probably by the Count's sisters, for a wedding.

"Oh my, Miss Inoue!" an overly cheery voice called from the other end of the chapel, "You've come back after all! I was afraid you'd deserted us forever!" Orihime peered out into the dim light to see the father that had accompanied the Count's family, Kisuke Urahara. He had emerged from the curtains leading into the priest's office, directly behind the alter.

"I'm sorry," Orihime apologized reflexively, "I-I was hoping I could have your council, if you weren't too busy, father." He released the curtain behind him, letting it fall with a flutter as he stepped out to approach the human girl.

"Oh, I was only writing the silly wedding service," he confessed half-seriously, "It can wait. What is it you wanted to ask me?" Orihime's eyebrows rose; the blond man seemed so cheerful and unserious about everything. He was a far cry from the solemn priests she was used to seeing visit their small village.

"A-Ah, how should I put this," she started softly, "I-I'm not sure... about becoming one of you. I mean! You're a vampire, but also a priest, s-so... Is it... Is it right?" The blond tilted his head and peered curiously at her for a moment before answering.

"You mean spiritually?" he finally asked. Orihime nodded shyly. The older man took a seat on one of the pews and motioned for her to join him. Obediently, Orihime took the seat beside him.

"If you're worried that this is a form of demon possession, I can tell you for certain that it is not," he began seriously, "No amount of casting out of spirits, holy water, or crucifixes will reverse it or even harm us. So you can rest your mind at ease on that count." Orihime actually found that she'd released a breath she'd been holding when he finished that part. But for as much as it answered, it still left many questions unanswered.

"But if it's not demonic, then... what is it?" she asked, genuinely curious. "You're still dead... Right?" At this, the priest smiled warmly.

"Yes," he answered honestly, "I won't pretend that I understand the mechanics of it, and I've studied it for years. For all we can tell, it's a type of blood-borne virus, or a magical curse." Orihime's attention was held enrapt.

"Can I ask where it started?" she asked quietly, captivated by the priest's voice.

"Of course," Urahara replied, "The legends say the first vampire was born at the dawn of humanity, just after Adam himself, and that she was ancestor to all. Supposedly, she was cursed by the Lord for her insolence and disobedience."

"H-How did she disobey?" Orihime asked, curious for more details.

"Oh, I think it had something to do with her preferring to be on top in the marital bed," he remarked blithely. Orihime felt herself blush to the roots of her hair; she certainly had no idea _that_was sinful. "Nonetheless, she was cursed to live by moonlight and feed from Adam's descendants."

"So this is a curse," she said slowly. Did that mean being separate from the Lord forever? She couldn't help but think it was a painfully sadistic choice to impose on someone.

"Well, if you believe that legend, then yes," the priest answered keenly, "Of course, the other going theory is that it's all just a fluke. Or that the original ancestor was a warrior who drank the blood of his enemies and was too brutal to die." Orihime was knocked somewhat off-kilter.

"Th-Then... Which one is correct?" The priest gave her a smile, one that was gentle and sincere.

"Who can say?" Urahara answered wistfully, fanning himself with his unfinished sermon. "The oldest living vampire is a gentleman from China who is roughly two thousand years old, and we were already an ancient race when he was born. But I don't suppose you know where that is?" Orihime twisted her fine gown in her fists and shyly looked up at the blond man from beneath her lashes, shaking her head.

"No, father," she answered.

"Oh, it's quite a trip out east," he answered cheerily, "Past the lands of the Greeks and the Turks and the Arabs." Orihime at least recognized those names from some of her storybooks (and at least one particularly naughty story Rangiku liked to tell).

The two sat in comfortable silence for a few more moments before Orihime asked her next question.

"Then..." she began slowly, "How do you reconcile this life with the word of God?" The priest smiled warmly and patted her head.

"I don't profess to know the mind of God," Urahara said thoughtfully, "And the Good Book offers no guidance on this. What I do know is that He forgives, through baptism and confession. Even though we live longer than humans, we are still fated to die eventually. And when I do, I hope to be reunited with Him. Does that make sense to you?" Orihime smiled in spite of herself. She didn't really understand how this worked, nor did she have much of an answer to the deeper questions of salvation and damnation. But Urahara's words still made her feel better anyway. Even though he couldn't offer her concrete reassurance, he had given her hope.

"Yes, father," she said quietly, "I think I understand now." He returned her smile.

"I believe everything happens for a reason," he went on, "And I believe you came here for a reason. From everything I've seen while I've been here, perhaps it's to help the young Count or your village that the Lord put you here." Orihime nodded, little tears forming in her eyes.

"You flatter me, father," she said with no small amount of embarrassment, "But... if I can help in any way, I want to." He patted her head again.

"I think you can do a lot of good here, Miss Inoue," he replied, his smile mysterious and wise, "Whether you become a vampire or remain a human."

Orihime's heart felt much lighter. Even though the priest had been honest with what he did and didn't know, she had found his uncertainty relateable. Perhaps faith and adherence to it was what really mattered in the end, as well as accepting God's will.

"Thank you again, father," she said, rising, "I feel much more certain now." He grinned, rising as well.

"Then can I assume this sermon is no longer intended for the Marquise Kuchiki?" he asked mischievously. Orihime found his smile infectious and returned it, beaming back at him.

"Yes," she said happily, "I think that's safe to say."

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, the priest led Orihime back up the long central aisle to the broad doors of the chapel entrance. As they reached the doorway, though, Orihime could hear the sounds of commotion from the other side. Urahara stepped ahead of her and cracked the doors open to see Rukia, Renji, and Karin on the other side, talking excitedly.

"Children," the priest chided, causing them to fall silent, "What's all the commotion? You should be a little quieter outside of the chapel." All three turned to him, wide-eyed, just as Orihime moved to the door herself.

"We have a visitor," Rukia spoke first, "He has just arrived downstairs." Orihime's brows pinched together; she hadn't heard of any other visitors that were supposed to come.

"Is that a reason for such a commotion?" Urahara asked keenly. The three young vampires looked one to the other before Karin finally spoke up.

"It's the Duke Aizen," she said hesitantly. "He's here for his man. The one big brother just killed."


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Seventeen

**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness, religious topics. Should be read with the lights off.

**Disclaimer:**These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. The LiveJournal format that you'll probably be reading this in (if you're one of my friends) is rough draft and is subject to revision. Consider this a 'sneak peek'. If something sits the wrong way with you, let me know. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

* * *

The rustle of silk skirts and the soft pad of slippers filled the hallway as the small party rushed through the stone corridors. As soon as Orihime had emerged from the chapel and been informed of their guest, Rukia had insisted that they shunt her back to her chambers as soon as possible. Thus she, Orihime, Renji, and Karin had begun their flight through the castle's passageways. Orihime had some idea as to why.

The Duke was the man who had turned Gin Ichimaru and kept him as a pet for more than a decade. He was the one responsible for the silver haired man's madness. And he was the one who had been directly responsible for most of the deaths in the village since Orihime had been born.

She could only imagine what he was like. In her mind, he was ancient and decrepit, all bony hands and sallow skin. She was sure it was as thin as parchment and translucent, showing dark blue veins pulsing feebly beneath. His hair was most likely white and thin, only hanging on in wisps and sprays. And the whites of his eyes had to be yellow with age, the irises a ruddy brown, the color of blood-stained dirt. And even though he would look frail, Orihime knew he'd have a grip like steel and iron muscles. He would be as strong as five horses and able to overpower anyone who disobeyed.

And he would be utterly, utterly evil.

Orihime's heart beat hard as they neared the entrance to the great hall. They'd have to pass over the balcony to return to her chambers. Sensing her hesitation, or perhaps just her speeding heartbeat, Rukia slowed beside her to a walk, never letting go of her hand.

"Just walk normally," the Marquise said softly, "And ignore them. Act completely uninterested and they may overlook us." She pulled Orihime to a stop in the shadows of the great hall's entrance and paused, waiting on the younger girl's breathing to slow.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "Give me a moment to catch my breath." Rukia nodded.

"You do not want to appear flustered or nervous," she explained further, "It will only attract their attention." Orihime's eyebrows quirked in distress.

"They?" she asked uncertainly. Rukia gave her an even look.

"Nobility never travel alone," Rukia commented. "As he is a Duke, and a wealthy one at that, we would be lucky if Aizen did not bring an entire army." Orihime winced. That was the last thing they needed right now.

"He's really powerful, isn't he?" she asked softly. This time, Karin spoke. Orihime hadn't even registered that she and Renji had caught up to them.

"About as powerful as they come," she muttered darkly. "Big Brother will be angry if he even _looks_at you. And there's not much he could do about it if he did." Orihime paled at this thought. She knew a good part of the reason the older vampire had taken Gin was for an intimate companion; a blush crept to her face at the distressing idea that he might take a liking to her as well.

"Come now," Rukia pushed forward, sensing Orihime's heart had slowed sufficiently and her breathing was once again normal. She still held the redhead's hand, pulling her with her into the light of the great hall.

As they entered, Orihime could hear the sounds of genteel conversation and polite greeting. It was almost dawn, she knew, so Aizen and his entourage would be staying the day with them. She figured they must have been ironing out the accommodations just then. Against her better judgment, Orihime looked down, curious to see how many there were.

Strangely enough, there were only two - a pallid man with unbelievably white skin, black hair, and shocking green eyes, and a slightly darker man with handsome features, wavy brown hair, and dark eyes. Orihime found herself mesmerized by the latter. There was something about him that drew her to stare, although she couldn't quite put her finger on just what it was.

Worse still, he caught her looking. Almost as if time had slowed down, he looked up toward her on the balcony and gave her a smile. Orihime was struck by just how strange it was - she couldn't tell if his smile was warm or cold. It seemed open enough, but something about his eyes was hungry and predatory.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. Rukia continued tugging her along behind her as they finally made their way to the safety of the opposite landing. They were quickly joined by Karin and Renji. Then they continued on through the corridors toward her chambers.

The thing that bothered Orihime, though, was that she hadn't seen Aizen anywhere. Perhaps he was being shown to his accommodations elsewhere, or simply hadn't arrived yet. But the two downstairs both seemed too young and unassuming to be the Duke. And the Count's posture and tone of voice hadn't suggested he was in the presence of a superior; in fact, his temperament had been worse than usual. Orihime could tell he was clearly annoyed at the two visitors' presence.

When the door to Orihime's room was finally closed behind the group, Rukia spoke.

"It is past dawn already," the petite noblewoman observed. "We will have to retire to our own chambers shortly." Orihime nodded in understanding, but a heavy weight had settled into her stomach.

"When we retire," Rukia continued, "Please keep to your own rooms. Miss Arisawa will stand watch over you. Hopefully Aizen and his man will be too weary of traveling to cause any trouble." Orihime's lips pursed as she took in what Rukia had said.

"Do you think he would?" she asked nervously. Rukia gave her a sympathetic look.

"Considering your looks and demeanor, as well as your relationship to Ichigo," Rukia began, "You would be a valuable commodity to any vampire. Particularly to an unscrupulous one out for revenge. As you are, as a human, you are particularly vulnerable."

Orihime felt distinctly uncomfortable at these observations. She didn't want to place Tatsuki in any danger, and she seriously doubted she'd be able to stand up to any of the powerful vampires that were visiting them. Suddenly, for the first time, she found herself wishing she was already a vampire in her own right.

"We will take our leave now," Rukia said softly, smoothing her skirts. "Please wait for Miss Arisawa before you do anything." Orihime nodded mutely, watching them go. She settled forlornly on her soft bed and folded her hands into her lap; it was going to be a long day.

* * *

Orihime was roused by Tatsuki slipping into her large bed with her. She'd just barely managed to change into her night shrift before a wave of dizziness overtook her and she fell back against her pillows. Now, she wasn't sure just how long she'd been asleep before Tatsuki woke her, but judging by the light in the windows, it couldn't have been long.

"Go back to sleep, Orihime," Tatsuki said quietly. "We had a big night." Orihime realized her friend was right and let her eyelids droop shut again.

She didn't stir again for several hours. When next she woke, Orihime was certain it was nearly noon. This time, however, what woke her was not quite as innocent as Tatsuki.

While her friend snored softly beside her, Orihime rubbed her eyes and tried to focus. There was something in the room with them, although she had no idea what it could be. Her senses were telling her it was something small and unobtrusive; a mouse or rat, perhaps. But something else was telling her there was another layer to it. It was sinister and threatening, hiding great power despite its small size. Orihime's heart was pounding in her chest.

As her eyes flitted around the curtained room, she glanced from corner to corner. She expected to see a big spider or maybe even a snake. What she actually saw, however, made her breath catch.

It was a bat, its body barely bigger than a barn mouse's. It was shifting its wings, picking at them and occasionally fluttering them; indeed, the motion was what had drawn Orihime's attention in the first place. Its fur was glossy and black, catching the late morning sun in streaks of blue. Strangest of all were its eyes; they were a green so dazzling that she could see them from clear across the room. As soon as she noticed them, she realized exactly who this was. This was Aizen's man, the one with the alabaster skin and black hair.

She watched the bat trepidatiously for several minutes, trying to move as little as possible to attract the least amount of attention. What was it doing there? Was it watching her? How long had it been there? Would it bite her if she went back to sleep? Should she wake Tatsuki? Finally, after turning the problem around in her mind for what seemed like an eternity, she decided on a course of action.

"Tatsuki," she whispered, causing the groggy girl to snort and begin to wake, "I need to relieve myself..." Her friend blinked blearily at her for a few moments before her words registered. Then, she began to rub her eyes free of sleep. With Tatsuki now awake, Orihime felt safer almost immediately.

The two girls slid out of bed and slipped on their slippers, yawning all the while. The entire time they spent waking up and shuffling toward the door, Orihime cast surreptitious glances at the bat in the corner of her room. If he noticed her, he didn't let on; in fact, he had settled quietly and appeared to be asleep. Still, Orihime couldn't get out of his unsettling presence fast enough.

After a call to the chamber pot and then the wash room, Orihime told Tatsuki of their morning visitor. Tatsuki didn't seem surprised.

"It's just like something Aizen would do," she muttered darkly. "He's having his creepy valet spy on you." That was exactly what Orihime didn't want to hear.

"Are you sure?" she fretted, "Maybe he was just going to bite me while I slept!" Tatsuki gave her a look of disbelief.

"That's not better!" the black haired girl exclaimed, giving her friend a light bop on the head. Orihime's expression sank to a frown.

"Then... what do you think he wants with me?" Orihime asked, afraid of the answer. Tatsuki's scowl wasn't encouraging, either.

"He probably already knows Ichigo killed his lover," Tatsuki observed. "If he found where they fought, there was blood everywhere. He'd be able to smell all of us." This did nothing to assuage Orihime's fears.

"He'll probably try to get to him through you."

Orihime's eyes widened as she met Tatsuki's steady gaze. That was the last thing she wanted to hear. She had already been enough trouble for the Count in the past two days; she didn't need to cause him anymore heartache.

"M-Maybe I should go," she said timidly, looking at Tatsuki through fear-stricken eyes. "If I go somewhere Aizen can't get to me until he leaves, then-" Tatsuki cut her off.

"There is _nowhere_he can't find you, Orihime," she said seriously. "He was probably only playing with the guy that kidnapped you by letting him think he'd gotten away. Don't you think it's strange he'd show up while we were still burning the body?" Orihime nodded mutely, waiting on Tatsuki to finish.

"You're far safer here, where we can all keep an eye on you and he won't dare try anything," Tatsuki concluded. "We aren't going to let anything happen to you." Orihime felt her cheeks burn with shame. Her first instinct had been to run away. Even if it was just to try and protect everyone in some misguided way, it still felt mighty shameful.

"Alright, Tatsuki," she said with a shy smile. "I trust you."

* * *

By the time Orihime and Tatsuki returned to her room, the little bat was thankfully gone. Orihime sighed in relief, grateful for his absence. She disliked the feeling that he was watching her, and disliked even more what he might do with whatever information he had gained.

The bat's absence also allowed her and Tatsuki to dress in their proper day clothes without fear of intrusion. Getting dressed would've been nearly impossible with Aizen's furry little spy watching over them.

That thought brought a flutter of disapproval into Orihime's heart as she dressed. She belonged here now; she already felt like this was her own home. She didn't deserve to be spied on in what would very soon be her castle.

"Ichigo's going to be angry, you know," Tatsuki observed. "He doesn't even trust himself around you while you sleep, let alone someone like that." As Orihime's cheeks colored at Tatsuki's words, she vaguely wondered what she meant by "someone like that".

"You aren't going to tell him, are you?" she fretted. "What if he picks a fight? Miss Karin said he isn't as powerful as Aizen..." Tatsuki huffed at Orihime's worry, but Orihime saw it as a very legitimate concern. The Count had a horrible temper, especially where she was concerned; she didn't want him to hurt himself for her sake, or worse.

"Probably not right away," she conceded at last. "They're going to talk about Aizen's man tonight, and he'll probably want Ichigo and the Marquis to compensate him to keep the peace. I don't want to screw this up for Ichigo." Orihime nodded. If that was what was at stake, she would keep silent as well.

"It's not fair," she said quietly, more to her vanity mirror than to Tatsuki. "He's terrorized our town for years, killed so many of us, and now... The Count has to apologize to him for it?" Tatsuki simply shook her head and crossed her arms.

"That's their politics," she said regretfully. "It's probably a good thing I can't become one of them. I'd never be able to stand apologizing to a bastard like that." This gave them both a little smile.

"I should just stay out of the way tonight, shouldn't I?" Orihime asked, picking up her hairbrush and running it through her hair. She cast a glance at Tatsuki's reflection in the mirror, who offered her a smile.

"That'd be for the best," the black haired girl answered. "The more he sees you around, the more likely Aizen is to try something. Don't worry, though. As soon as it gets dark, Ichigo's sisters and Rukia and Renji will come guard you." Orihime's eyebrows quirked as Tatsuki picked up one of her fine combs and began twisting her hair into acceptability.

"What about you?" she asked, noting her friend's absence. Tatsuki shook her head.

"I'll still be here," she said. "But I need sleep, too. They'll be able to give me a break." Orihime's mouth formed an 'o' in understanding. As soon as the last hairpin was in place, Tatsuki grinned, admiring her handiwork.

"Alright, that about does it," she said confidently. "Let's go get lunch."

The two girls went about their business quietly, going to the dining room to eat and chatting in low tones along the way. A nervousness underpinned their entire conversation, brought about by the unsettling new presences in their midst. As the day wore on, Orihime found her stomach churning at the idea of somehow being involved with the Duke in any way.

After lunch, they busied themselves in a nearby parlor with needlework. When that grew tiresome, they took their leave back to Orihime's room to pass the few hours until the sun set. On the way there, however, another surprise greeted them.

It was the brown haired man Orihime had seen early that morning. He had already dressed himself in a fine, creamy white waistcoat and breeches, the suit cut in just exactly the way that would flatter him best. And Orihime found herself mesmerized by his hair; it was tousled in such a way as to look effortless, but it also had every wavy brown curl put perfectly into place.

The strikingly handsome man was strolling idly down one of the passages they needed to take to get to Orihime's room, as well, so there was no avoiding him. At the moment, however, he was studying some of the hallway's decor - lightly running slender, graceful fingers along it - and had not yet noticed the two girls. Orihime hoped they could pass him quietly with a minimal greeting and no fuss. But those hopes were dashed as soon as he looked up, turning calculating brown eyes toward them.

"Good afternoon, ladies," he said warmly, gracing them both with a smile. He bowed his head, eyes never leaving Orihime's. Even though he sent a chill up her spine, she found she couldn't look away. She curtsied awkwardly from her nervousness while Tatsuki stood straight as an arrow.

"G-Good evening, sir," Orihime stammered, not actually knowing the man's name. "You're up early..." The man simply chuckled deep in his throat while still fixing Orihime with his eyes. She felt like a small animal that had been pinned by a wolf; she could hardly breathe. Worse, the low rumble of his laughter was doing something to her on a visceral level, something that only the Count had managed to do so far. It made her stomach feel funny, sending an odd tingle through her lower body. Realizing this, she even felt a light blush creep up her face.

"I always rise early," the brunette replied kindly. "I'm frequently busy and can't afford to sleep too long." Orihime pushed all of the awkward feelings aside and concentrated on what he was saying.

"What is it you do, sir?" she asked. "Are you the Duke's valet?" At this, the brown-haired man broke out into full-fledged, genuine laughter. This distressed Orihime a bit; as unsettling as these two men were, she didn't want to embarrass herself, or the Count, in front of either of them.

"Oh no, no," the man said, giving her a genuinely amused smile. "My dear, charming girl! Did the Count not tell you?" Orihime fretted. She hadn't spoken to the Count since the previous evening, before she even went to see Urahara.

"No?" she said uncertainly, worried she'd missed something vital. Instead, the man simply offered her a toothy smile, his pointed canines drawing her eye.

"My dear, I am Sousuke Aizen, the Duke of Escalona."


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Eighteen  
**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness, religious topics, sexual situations. Should be read with the lights off.  
**Disclaimer:**These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. The LiveJournal format that you'll probably be reading this in (if you're one of my friends) is rough draft and is subject to revision. Consider this a 'sneak peek'. If something sits the wrong way with you, let me know. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

* * *

Orihime stared in stunned silence at the smiling man before her. This was the Duke Aizen, the one who had done so much wrong to her village and her family. And yet, on the surface, he seemed as unassuming as a lamb.

There were no spidery veins or age spots, no bald patches on his crown. Instead, he was the very picture of vitality. She guessed he was somewhere around Urahara's age - older than the Count, but younger than his father.

Even still, she knew there was something out of place about him. Beyond his pleasant demeanor and angelic countenance, she could tell there lurked something abominable. Perhaps it was his eyes, which were a mixture of welcoming and foreboding. She couldn't tell. All Orihime knew for certain was that there was something simultaneously magnetic and repulsive about him.

"And you must be the Lady Inoue," the Duke said after she had failed to speak for several seconds. "I've heard quite a bit about you." Orihime thought she heard Tatsuki mutter something derisive beside her, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the Duke long enough to be certain.

"Yes, that's me," she said softly, finally remembering her etiquette. "All pleasant things, I hope?" She smiled as best she could, but it was difficult under his enormous presence. Before she could move away or do anything else, the Duke took her hand and brought it to his lips. A delicious shiver ran down Orihime's spine just from the coolness of his lips and caused her toes to curl in her slippers.

Outside she maintained her composure, but inside, Orihime was beside herself. Why was this happening? Only the Count should've been able to make her feel things like that. Did this mean she was a bad person? Or unfaithful? It wasn't as if she had asked to react like that. A part of her felt that all of this was distinctly unfair.

"Of course," the Duke answered in short order. "I can't imagine a creature such as yourself having anything but the... purest of intentions." If Orihime was distressed before, she was certainly almost mad with confusion now. Did he know? How could he? What was happening?

"You... You flatter me, sir," she stammered, feeling the annoying heat in her cheeks. The Duke simply chuckled, not bothering to release her hand.

"Oh no, my dear," he replied with a smile. "Merely stating my observation. I am a rather good judge of character." When Orihime didn't respond, her expression vaguely resembling that of a frightened deer, the Duke continued.

"I hear that you've captured the heart of the stubborn Count Kurosaki," he went on. "That must have been quite a feat." As he spoke, his cool thumb gently stroked the back of her hand. It was such an intimate gesture that Orihime was at once embarrassed and frightened - and still frozen in place. She suspected that if he moved to strip her naked right in the middle of the hallway, she'd be powerless to move then, as well.

"N-Not really," she protested weakly as he placed his other cool hand around hers. "It all happened quite suddenly." Now as he leaned forward, he seemed to be examining her. After he seemed to have come to a satisfactory conclusion, he smiled blithely.

"I can see why he'd be so enamored of you, Lady Inoue," he murmured, something unfathomable stirring in those dark eyes of his.

Just as Orihime thought she might finally fall forward entirely, a firm arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her back against a body that was just as solid. Aizen released her hand and suddenly, the spell was broken. Orihime felt as though she'd just been dipped head-first into an icy stream. It was like suddenly waking up from a dream.

"I was just remarking on what charming taste you have, Count," Aizen said, smirking. Orihime tilted her head up to see the Count, arms wrapped about her possessively and leveling a murderous glare at the Duke. He looked as though he had just found an unwelcome vermin in his house.

"You'll have to excuse us," he murmured. "The lady has frequent fainting spells." Aizen's eyebrow quirked in amusement.

"My, my!" he remarked. "Is she anemic?" He seemed endlessly amused at his own joke. Orihime could see the faint outline of the Count's sharp canine teeth beneath his upper lip.

"She simply isn't well," he said succinctly. "Please excuse us." The Duke bowed graciously, giving them leave.

"Of course, Count," he acquiesced. "Lady Inoue, I hope to make your acquaintance again very soon." Orihime nodded dumbly, lightly feeling her forehead with her hand.

"Thank you, sir," she said quietly. With that, the Count lifted her off her feet and walked past the Duke in the direction of her rooms. As they passed, Orihime could see the barest traces of a smirk forming on the dark-haired man's face.

* * *

"Tatsuki," the Count ground out as soon as Orihime's door was closed behind the three.

"I'm sorry, Ichigo," the black-haired girl apologized. "There was no way around him." His stormy brown eyes flickered back to his childhood friend as he sat his fiancée down on her bed.

"Don't be angry at Tatsuki," Orihime pleaded. "I didn't think he'd say anything to us." He knelt before her and took her hand, eyebrows pinched in concern.

"Neither of you could move, could you?" he asked, sparing a glance at Tatsuki. The maid shook her head as Orihime's cheeks colored violently.

"I-It was really strange," Orihime said shyly, refusing to meet his eyes. Ichigo gave her a curious look before sighing and shaking his head. She obviously wasn't telling him everything that was on her mind, but he wouldn't press for now.

"It's because both of you have human blood," he explained. "Aizen is very good at placing humans into a swoon just by being near them. It's his particular talent. You must take care to keep out of his presence." Even though Orihime nodded slowly in understanding, Ichigo noticed she didn't look him in the eyes. Was she afraid he had done the same thing to her? Or was there something else there? Either way, no matter how wounded it made him feel, she would tell him when she was ready. Or maybe she'd even tell Rukia or Tatsuki if she couldn't tell him.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he leaned forward and caught Orihime's lips in a relatively chaste kiss. It was impulsive and meant to distract her back into giving her attention to him, and it worked. Her eyes widened and her pulse fluttered at first. After a few seconds, her eyelids drifted shut and she relaxed into the kiss, her heartbeat slowing to a more normal rate.

They lingered like that for a few more moments before Tatsuki cleared her throat to remind them she was there. Ichigo pulled back, color slowly rising to his face, as Orihime blushed violently and hid her cheeks with her hands.

"Aren't there things you need to be doing?" Tatsuki asked slyly. "Besides, you're supposed to save that stuff for when you're married." Ichigo sputtered at Tatsuki's teasing; why did she always have to embarrass him so? Especially in front of Orihime!

"This is fine to do!" Ichigo protested. "It's not like we're in public!" Orihime slid her hands completely over her face in mortification while Tatsuki snorted with laughter.

"That's even worse!" she retorted. "If you're alone, who knows what you'll do!" Ichigo knew what she was getting at; rather than being angry with her - he could hardly bring himself to be truly angry with Tatsuki - he was simply mortified.

"Sh-Shut up, Tatsuki!" he finally squawked, causing the maid to break out into gales of laughter. Orihime squeaked at her spot on the bed.

"Please... Please don't fight!" she mewled, causing the two friends to draw up short. Tatsuki chuckled as her laughter finally died down, and Ichigo stood in bare mortification. Did she really think this was serious?

"Don't worry about it, Orihime," Tatsuki said after some few seconds. "We tease him like this all the time." The human girl still looked timid, so Ichigo sighed and ran a hand through his unruly hair.

"She's right, Miss Inoue," he reassured her, doing his best to smile for her, "If I was really angry, you'd know." Orihime probably realized he was right because she nodded sheepishly. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed; the comforting gesture elicited a smile from the redheaded girl.

"Alright," Ichigo said, leaning down to look Orihime in the eye, "I have important business to attend to. Rukia and Renji should be here soon." With that, he leaned in to place a peck on her forehead and then stood. As quickly as he could, Ichigo then retreated before anyone noticed the quickly deepening blush on his pale face.

* * *

A flutter of leathery black wings greeted the noble lord upon his return to his chamber. The Duke smiled; not the congenial, warm smile that didn't quite meet his eyes, the one he'd used on the human girl in the castle hallway. No, this was the smile of a predator.

The winged creature that awaited him had perched itself upside-down in a shady corner of the room and had been shifting its wings when he came in. Upon his arrival, the black bat let go of the ceiling and righted himself in mid-air before fluttering to the ground. As the heavy oaken door behind Aizen swung shut, the bat began its transformation.

Wings receded into thin, white arms. Tiny legs stretched to the proportions of a tall, spindly human. The black fur receded up his body, ending just above his shoulders, leaving bare alabaster skin and a white suit in its wake. Finally, only the black head of hair and the startling green eyes of the creature remained unchanged.

"Master," he tonelessly greeted the Duke. Aizen inclined his head at his subordinate.

"What news, Ulquiorra?" the vampire lord asked imperiously. He knew what he'd sent his valet to do; now he wanted to know the results.

"An inspection of the town reveals that Mr. Ichimaru had been living here for several months," he informed his lord in a monotone. "There are signs of fighting at one of the houses at the edge of town. I also found his blood, along with Lord Kurosaki's and the two women, outside of a cave near here."

As his servant spoke, Aizen drifted to the dresser his hosts had provided. He had brought a rather nice traveling decanter set with him, a viscous red liquid swirling just beyond the crystal exterior. He opened the stopper on top as he listened, passing the bottle under his nose to take in the scent before pouring himself a glass half-full of the crimson elixir.

"I see," he said softly, taking a sip of the delicious liquid. It slid down his throat, sending warmth throughout his body and a shiver up his spine. His mind, however, was working quite quickly. Of course Gin had confronted the Count; although his erstwhile lover had never voiced his distaste for the Kurosaki family, Aizen wasn't stupid or unobservant. He knew Gin harbored a deep grudge against them for their neglectfulness. So it was hardly surprising that he would try to rob Kurosaki of everything he held dear that he could get his hands on.

He wondered if there might be another reason, though.

"Where was his scent in the town?" the shrewd man asked.

"Only near the one house," Ulquiorra answered dispassionately. "It was a few days old already. He seemed to have been hiding since."

"And who lives there?"

"Only a young couple," came the reply. "Kurosaki had visited recently, although they seem to have fought there, as well."

Aizen hummed to himself quietly. He had the fleeting idea that perhaps Gin had sought out the little girl he used to live with, but it disappeared as soon as it formed. He had never mentioned the girl to Aizen, but he always wondered at just how close the two had been. But this sounded more like a territory dispute. Why was that house important to Kurosaki? Perhaps it was only coincidence.

"And the girl?" Aizen knew Ulquiorra would know exactly who he was talking about.

"She's quite wary," Ulquiorra replied. "She woke while I was watching her and left the room. Other than that, she simply slept." Aizen smiled.

"She sounds more clever than she let on," he murmured. "Very well. Thank you, Ulquiorra." The dark-haired valet dipped his head in reverence before addressing his master again.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?" the pale man asked. Aizen peered shrewdly over his glass at him.

"That will be all for now," he said smoothly. "Our meeting with the Kurosakis will begin presently."

* * *

As the sky grew progressively darker, Orihime's heart fretted more and more. It was evident to everyone in the room - Rukia, Renji, even Tatsuki, who was currently sleeping - that something was troubling her. She paced up one side of the room and back, subconsciously wringing her hands from time to time. As she went, the conscious couple's eyes followed her.

"Miss Inoue," Rukia finally said, causing Orihime to turn her pale face toward her, "If you keep pacing like that, even I'll become nauseous." Orihime looked away, abashed, and came to sit beside Rukia on her large bed.

"Miss Kuchiki," she began hesitantly, "May I ask you something?" As she spoke, her eyes flittered over to Rukia. The black-haired girl was smiling reassuredly at her, squeezing her shoulder with one delicate, fine-boned hand.

"Go ahead," the older girl encouraged her. Orihime gave her a shy smile as she continued.

"The Duke isn't... he's not like what I expected at all," she confessed. Rukia's face grew curious.

"How so?" she asked.

"For one thing," Orihime said slowly, "he's... young." Rukia's eyebrows went up for a second before she smiled.

"From the way we spoke of him," she observed, "You expected a decrepit old man? Or a monster?" Orihime's face colored as she nodded.

"I did," she affirmed softly. "But he seemed rather... kind. And polite." Rukia's look turned skeptical.

"Do not let his mannerisms fool you," she said firmly. "Aizen may appear harmless, but he is actually quite treacherous." Orihime's cheeks grew darker as she listened, remembering her body's reaction to the man. Was it possible he'd somehow controlled her mind? Somehow, it didn't make her feel any less guilty.

"I see," she replied. "But... Miss Kuchiki... May I confess something to you? As another woman?" Rukia cocked her head to the side and raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Of course, Miss Inoue," she said, her eyes betraying her curiosity. "You may rely on me to keep your confidence." Orihime looked at her uncertainly, still ashamed of the thing she was about to confess.

"When I spoke with him in the hallway," she began, "Aizen, I mean... When I spoke with him, something awful came over me." Rukia's eyes narrowed a bit as she took in Orihime's words.

"Awful?" she asked. "How so?"

"It was... a dizzy feeling," Orihime continued. "And warm. I couldn't walk away, and it stirred something lewd within me. I felt like I do when I'm with the Count." The last sentence was said in barely a whisper; that was the shameful part. The Count was her fiancé now, so feeling those heated things for him was embarrassing, but by no means awful. But to have those same feelings stirred by another man, a complete stranger and one that was supposed to be a complete monster at that, that was another story.

A look of recognition dawned on Rukia's face, though.

"Oh, Miss Inoue," she said, a gentle smile curling her lips, "You feel guilty about it, do you not?" Orihime barely met her eyes as she nodded, drawing her lip between her teeth as unshed tears threatened to fall.

"Please put it from your mind," the older girl said, reaching over to pat Orihime's hand. "Aizen has a unique gift for manipulation of the senses. That is all that happened." Orihime's eyes went wide in realization.

"That's..." she began, "That's the same thing he did to get Gin Ichimaru to leave with him!" The memory of Gin recounting his fuzzy-headedness to her came back, causing her to wonder why she hadn't connected the two sooner. Rukia simply nodded.

"Most likely, yes," she replied. "Although we have no way of being sure. But it is a talent that any vampire would find useful. It is meant to attract prey." Orihime's blood ran cold. Didn't the Count say his hypnosis only affected those with human blood? That would explain why she, Gin, and even Tatsuki had fallen prey to it, but the Kurosaki clan had not.

"Then he was trying... to drink my blood?" Orihime asked shakily. Rukia shook her head.

"I doubt it," the black-haired girl replied. "Most likely, he was conniving to simply play with your mind. He is good at that." Orihime's brows knitted as her mouth drew down into a pout. Was this all to spite Ichigo? But Rukia's attention suddenly turned elsewhere, as though she had heard something that Orihime had not.

"Do not let it trouble you," she finally said after a few quiet moments. "Ichigo is about to take care of everything."


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Eighteen  
**Series: **Bleach  
**Rating:** R  
**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness, religious topics, sexual situations. Should be read with the lights off.  
**Spoilers:** This is AU. We don't need spoilers where we're going.  
**Disclaimer:**These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

* * *

The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

All of the ladies had been dismissed for the evening. The drawing room consisted only of Ichigo, his father, their valets, Aizen, and his valet. The only servant allowed to intrude had been decided to be Nemu. As Chad was still recovering from his injury, and Tatsuki was susceptible to the Duke's influences, she was decided to be the safest choice. There was also the fact that no one present really thought she posed any threat of carrying information outside of the room.

She went around the large table situated in the center of the room for the occasion, filling elegant goblets with viscous red liquid. The whole while, Ichigo's eyes never left Aizen. Staring openly over the rim of his cup, only a blind man could have failed to see the vicious anger present on the young redhead's face.

For his part, the brunette seemed not to see the younger noble at all. He smiled cordially and swirled the contents of his cup as though he was a wine connoisseur. He made small talk with his valet, who seemed absolutely uninterested in everything, and with the Marquise. The black-haired vampire seemed to have sensed his son's steadily-rising temper and kept his answers polite, but suitably succinct.

"This is quite fine," Aizen remarked with yet another swirl of his glass, "You must have brought a meal with you." Isshin simply shook his head.

"Oh no," he replied, waving his hand nonchalantly, "I've had a wonderful storage system designed for us for when we travel. It works best in winter." Aizen showed just the appropriate level of polite interest, causing Ichigo to quietly grit his teeth.

"My, my!" the Duke exclaimed. "You'll have to give me the name of the creator, so I might call upon him!" Finally, Ichigo could take no more.  
"Perhaps you'd like to tell us why you have called upon us," Ichigo said bitterly. "We're too far out of your way for this to be a social call." Isshin patted Ichigo on the back with a very firm swat before grabbing his shoulder and bearing down. Ichigo didn't even flinch at the very clear warning.

"Yes, Duke," the Marquis continued on, sounding very much the friendly host, "What brings you out all this way?" Aizen smiled warmly and put his glass down, his eyes glinting cleverly all the while.

"I seem to have misplaced my favorite valet," he said in an almost-joking way. "Although we were separated farther west, we heard he had come this way." Ichigo was intensely aware of the Duke's gaze on him. He held it firmly, not caring if the older vampire saw it as a challenge.

"And what makes you think there is anything of interest to him out here?" Isshin smoothly replied, well aware of the previous night's goings on - Ichigo had already informed him privately. "These are merely our ancestral lands. It is only by chance that they happen to be occupied this Christmastide. We usually remain further west, in Vienna." Aizen smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes. Ichigo thought he looked rather like a cat who had just gotten a canary.

"Ah yes," the Duke prattled pleasantly, seizing on the bit of conversation, "You're here for the Count's wedding, yes?" Ichigo felt his eye twitch, and if he wasn't mistaken, there might have been a bit of blackness creeping into the corners of his scalera. "The Lady Inoue is quite lovely, isn't she?"

"Can you get to the damn point already?" Ichigo snarled. The hand on his shoulder tightened, pressing him down into his seat hard enough to keep him from coming across the table at Aizen. The brunette across the way from Ichigo looked unperturbed at the father restraining his son.

"Very well, then," the Duke went on smoothly, "I'll be blunt. We already know that Gin has been here." Ichigo's stern gaze didn't waver.  
"What has that to do with us?" he nearly snarled.

"Isn't it obvious?" Aizen asked simply. "Not only has Gin definitely been here, we are also aware that he has fought another vampire... and lost." Ichigo felt his blood chill at this. Of course Aizen knew. It would be ridiculous to assume he didn't. The only thing that had kept him pleasant to this point had been some misguided notion of civility on his part.

"That's unfortunate," Isshin said slowly, casting a warning glance at Ichigo. "But we're the only vampires here." Aizen simply smirked.

"Of course, Marquis," the younger man replied blithely. "It was no trouble at all to determine exactly who fought with him." He cast a piercing look directly at Ichigo. The redhead didn't back down; he met Aizen's challenge head on, unblinking.

"He was killing our humans," Ichigo spat, causing Isshin to startle. "You know very well that's an open act of hostility. Ichimaru deserved everything he got."

"Ichigo," Isshin hissed. Ichigo cast him a scowl before turning his attention back to Aizen. The Duke seemed completely unfazed by Ichigo's declaration. In fact, his smile was downright pleasant.

"But surely you know that's improper?" Aizen drawled, swirling the dark red fluid in his crystal goblet. "You should have turned him over to me. As his lord, he is my responsibility." Ichigo could barely contain his snarl.

"Then you should've kept him away from our land!" Ichigo declared, slamming a fist on the table. Finally, Isshin had had enough, pulling Ichigo back against his chair hard.

"Enough!" the Marquis nearly bellowed at his son. Then, he turned back to Aizen, who looked as though everything was going according to his plans. "Dear Duke," Isshin continued, "Please forgive my son's impertinence. We regret the loss of your valet, but it was unfortunately necessary to preserve our ancestral lands."

"Of course, Marquis," Aizen replied smoothly, setting his glass onto the well-polished table. "But of course we could agree here that the life of one of our kind is worth immeasurably more than those of a human flock." Ichigo could see the set of Isshin's jaw; he clearly disliked where this was going as well.

"Of course," Isshin replied reluctantly. "Although I would rather not have it come to that." Ichigo could see that Isshin was just as wary as he of Aizen's train of thought. If Aizen was after their land or their flock, Ichigo didn't care a whit for his father's opinion; he'd fight the Duke tooth and nail. Not only because it was their ancestral land and duty, but for Orihime as well. He would never be able to face her if he allowed her town to default to this monster.

"Of course you wouldn't," Aizen said pleasantly. "But you must also concede that I am owed some sort of recompense for the loss of my property?" If Ichigo didn't know Isshin would have immediately shushed him, he would've called Aizen on his ridiculous request. Logically, the Marquis and his family didn't have the standing to challenge this request. Neither their social nor physical strength would be enough for them to challenge Aizen on this matter.

What was worse, they both well knew that there was no way that Aizen's current valet was his only traveling companion. He had probably stationed the rest of his men just outside of the range of their noses; if he did indeed have a contingent set up just on the other side of the mountain pass, Ichigo well knew they could descend upon the castle quickly and efficiently. Even more unconscionable was the fact that the castle was currently occupied by women and children, as well as a castle town full of helpless humans that Aizen's contingent would doubtlessly use as food. Aizen had limitless hostages they were both unwilling to risk here, and both Ichigo and Isshin knew it.

"What exactly did you have in mind?" Isshin asked shrewdly, his look skeptical. The Duke looked as though he'd already gotten whatever thing he was after. "If it's monetary compensation, I assure you that it's no problem."

"Oh no," Aizen said with a shake of his head. "That simply won't do at all. Gin was much more than a valet. He was also my personal companion. There's no amount of gold that could recover that." Ichigo felt his blood chill, even with the cold already permeating the heatless room. Somehow, he had an inkling what Aizen was getting at. And he didn't like it one bit. Isshin didn't seem to have quite caught on yet, though.

"You see, he was very young," Aizen continued slyly, picking his goblet back up to study the contents again. "I had only had him for three years, and he had been human for six and ten afore that. So sad to see such a bright boy's future cut short. It's only fitting that I get something equivalent, isn't it?" Isshin's brows knitted and Ichigo could tell that he was also becoming very uneasy with the direction of this conversation.

"I suppose that would be reasonable." Isshin's words were measured, aware that Aizen was most likely trying to trap him with something absolutely unreasonable.

"I'm glad we see eye-to-eye," Aizen replied. "In that case, I don't think it would be too much to ask for another, do you?" Ichigo felt as though he had been dipped in ice water. He knew exactly what the next words out of Aizen's mouth would be. His fingers twitched, spasming as he wished they could wrap around Aizen's neck.

"I think Lady Inoue would be a good substitute," Aizen continued, pinning Ichigo with a hard gaze. "Don't you?"

Before Ichigo knew what he was doing, he was on his feet, palms slammed flat into the polished surface of the table. Cracks spread beneath his palms in a web-like pattern. Had he been rational at all, he'd have realized he was well on his way to breaking the whole table.

"I refuse!" he bellowed. "I'd rather die than let you-" The words withered on his tongue. A cold grip tightened on the back of his neck, sharp nails digging into his flesh. Ichigo bared his teeth as he slowly slid his eyes to look behind him.

Aizen's valet, Ulquiorra, stood behind him, arm outstretched and gripping him by the back of his neck firmly. He hadn't even noticed him move. The pale man's grip was as firm as stone, and Ichigo knew struggling would do him no good.

"That can be arranged, Count," Ulquiorra droned, his voice dull and monotone. Ichigo hissed, knowing he had no choice but to stay still.

"I had a feeling you'd say that," Aizen sighed in mock disappointment. "That's quite alright, though. I did come prepared." Isshin's jaw was set firmly as he watched his restrained son out of the corner of his eye. Ichigo was so intent on watching the exchange between his father and Aizen that he barely registered his father's valet slipping out of the large room.

"What kind of game are you playing, Aizen?" Isshin asked coldly. Ichigo couldn't help but feel a small glimmer of hope; he alone stood no chance of defending Orihime from Aizen's mechanitions, but perhaps if his father stood up to the Duke, there was still a chance.

"Oh, it's hardly a game, my dear Marquis," Aizen said, leaning back in his chair. "You didn't honestly think I came ill prepared, did you? After you and your family arrived, I took the liberty of stationing a contingent of my men in the pass leading to your little village here. In the event that I would leave here unsatisfied, I think you're well aware of what would happen."

Ichigo watched as his father's eyes momentarily flicked toward the door of the spacious room. Obviously not finding what they sought, they flickered back to Aizen, the black-haired man's countenance remaining frozen and calm.

"Very well," he said slowly. "We will negotiate. But first, I'd like your man to let my son go." Ichigo felt a growl building in his chest as Ulquiorra's short, black fingernails dug into his skin.

"As long as he behaves, I have no problem with that," Aizen said smoothly, playing the part of the generous negotiator. Ichigo didn't bother glancing back at Ulquiorra as the pale man resentfully let him go. He took his seat again resentfully, but Ulquiorra didn't move; Ichigo figured he was still waiting for that order from Aizen, and the Duke didn't feel inclined to give it.

"Lady Inoue is not a bargaining piece," Ichigo spat abruptly. Aizen's expression was unchanging, as was Isshin's. The older Kurosaki didn't take his eyes off the Duke as he addressed his son.

"Ichigo, be still," the Marquis ordered, his eyes fixed on Aizen. "We will negotiate to the best of our ability, but her loss may not be able to be helped." He then shifted back to addressing Aizen.

"Surely you must know that dear Lady Inoue is my son's fiancee? Is there nothing else here that would satisfy you?" Aizen took a sip of his drink, his smug expression growing more loathsome to Ichigo by the second.

"It's reassuring to see that one of you still possesses his wits about him," Aizen said smoothly as he swirled the contents of his glass. "But I'm afraid not. A companion of Gin's caliber is exceedingly difficult to come by, and I believe Lady Inoue fits the bill nicely. She is a very rare flower indeed. But of course you'd agree, Count?" Ichigo could muster no reply but a barely suppressed growl.

"Be that as it may," Isshin said slowly, "We're very reluctant to give her over. Is there no amount of gold or jewels we can tempt you with? Regardless of the location of our lands, we want for nothing."

Aizen's smirk got more sickening, if that was even possible. He gestured to Ulquiorra, who left Ichigo and rounded the table back to his master. As he did, he withdrew a piece of vellum and a quill, as well as an ink bottle, from the inner lining of his waistcoat. Aizen took these, his eyes never leaving Isshin's, and then began scratching onto the paper. As soon as he was finished, he folded the paper and slid it across the table to Isshin, who took and unfolded it. The Marquis' eyebrows shot up as soon as he saw what was written there.

"This is quite exorbitant," he murmured, rubbing the scruff on his chin. Ichigo cut a frustrated glance at him.

"Well, Gin was quite an irreplaceable companion," Aizen said smoothly. "I think that's a fair offer for settlement." Ichigo had finally had quite enough and reached over to snatch the paper from his father's hand.

"Just pay the man his damn settlement," Ichigo growled, glancing down at the vellum. "Surely it can't be th-" He stopped mid-sentence as he looked at the figures written there, a sudden queasiness overtaking him. Surely Aizen knew this was more than the entire family was worth, Budapest town house included!

"I think you see the problem there," Isshin grumbled beneath his breath. Ichigo could feel his eyes burning; that angry monster was just on the edge of coming back again. That damnable duke was being obtuse on purpose!

"Surely that's not unreasonable, Marquis?" Aizen said coyly, taking another sip of his drink. Isshin's eye twitched, but his face otherwise remained a blank mask.

"Of course not," he obliged. "However, I am afraid that we will have to find some other arrangement. Surely you wouldn't object to a different servant and a bit less fiscal compensation?" Aizen's smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Oh no," he drawled, "It's Lady Inoue or nothing. I'm quite decided on that point." Ichigo ground his teeth; he wanted dearly to break something. Isshin could see his agitation as well, and placed a hand over his beneath the table.

"Be still," Isshin hissed under his breath; then he turned back to Aizen. "Then I believe we are at an impasse. I would hope there is some reasonable resolution we could reach that wouldn't leave our entire family put out, or my son without his bride." As he spoke, his eyes flickered back toward the door. Ichigo finally saw it move, two familiar men entering. Had his father's furtive glances been because he expected someone else's arrival?

As soon as they entered, he knew his father had been waiting on them.

At the lead was his father's valet, crisp and starched and white as always. And following not far behind, in a swirl of black robes, was that damnable priest. Only this time, Ichigo was sure there was a good cause for him to be here, and he was quite likely going to offer some help. He was well aware that Aizen and the clergyman didn't get along for whatever reason, most likely because Aizen was a shameless libertine and never bothered to hide it. Or possibly because Aizen frequently thought himself above the elders of the church; more than once he'd flagrantly flouted their rules and made it a point to let them know they had no proof with which to prosecute him. Even vampires who were devoutly areligious, such as Ichigo and his father, did not dare such a thing; regardless of one's feelings about God, one did not brazenly fly in the face of the governing body of the church.

"My, my!" the father proclaimed brightly, fanning himself with a piece of aged parchment. "I do so hope I'm not interrupting anything!" Isshin gestured to a seat at the head of the table, welcoming the priest with a warm smile. Aizen's face remained neutral, betraying no emotion other than a quiet bemusement. Ichigo knew he was confident enough in his position to feel not the least bit intimidated by Urahara's presence.

"Of course not, old friend!" Isshin replied jovially before turning to Nemu. "Be a dear, would you, and pour our friend here a drink." The dark-haired girl did as she was asked flawlessly, not spilling so much as a drop outside of the glass. Urahara took it with a grateful smile.

"I'm afraid I'm at a bit of a loss here," Aizen interjected with obvious forced pleasantness. "Is there truly a need for the presence of a priest here?" Ichigo was loathe to admit it, but he agreed with Aizen's assessment; why was Urahara here? As for the sandy-haired man, Ichigo recognized the fleeting, calculating glint in his blue eyes as he took a drought from his crystal cup.

"Delicious!" he exclaimed. "I see the preservation system I set up has worked out well for you!" Aizen's pleasant mask was quickly sliding into impatience as Urahara dissembled over nothing. Instead, Isshin answered his question.

"Well, your grace, as this is a fairly legal matter, isn't it only right that a member of the church join us?" Ichigo thought Aizen looked vaguely uncomfortable at this notion, but the look passed quickly.

"I suppose it is," Aizen said smoothly, disguising any discomfort he might have felt. "Shall we inform the Father of our current situation?" Urahara sat his glass down with a clink, drawing a deep breath and wiping his mouth.

"Ahh, that would be unnecessary," the blond said, his demeanor swiftly shifting from carefree to serious in the wink of an eye. "I'm already well-apprised of the situation." Aizen regarded him, stone-faced.

"And what apprisal might that include?" Aizen asked, his demeanor no longer masking his naked aggression.

"Let's see, here," Urahara went on. "I believe you are quite wroth with the Kurosaki family for doing away with your erstwhile companion, are you not?" Aizen gave a stiff nod and waited for the priest to continue. "In particular, with their son, the young Count."

Ichigo's jaw set as he stared openly at Urahara in defiance.

"You are correct, Father," Aizen drawled, something of a smile making its way back to his face. As he did, Urahara took to studying the swirl of red liquid in his drinking glass. "We all know the boy has something of a foul temper, so it's little wonder he'd do something as heinous as taking the life of another of his kind." Ichigo almost stood before his father's iron-like grip kept him in place.

"Be that as it may," Urahara said smoothly, "I'm also aware that your man Ichimaru has resided for quite a while in this tiny hamlet. I wonder why that might be? It isn't as though he wouldn't have been better off in a larger place like Prague or any of the other cities between your dukedom and here." Aizen gave a nonchalant shrug before addressing the group again.

"I would certainly have no idea," he replied. "And I would say that any human lives he might have consumed while here are quite inconsequential in difference to his own." Urahara smiled diplomatically.

"Oh my, certainly," the priest placated. "Be that as it may, he certainly was poaching here. And while that may not be worthy of a true death in and of itself, a bit of investigation revealed something interesting." Aizen raised an eyebrow at the towheaded man.

"And what would that be, Father?" Urahara unfurled the worn parchment he'd brought with him.

"It seems that a study of the church's local register shows that someone named Gin Ichimaru resided in this town's orphanage roughly fourteen years ago."

Ichigo's eyebrows shot toward his hairline. In the time Orihime had taken to visit Urahara the night before, he had informed his father of everything she'd told him. He wasn't aware, however, that his father had shared it all with the priest. He must have gone during the day to procure the town's records, when he knew the rest of the house would be abed. Quite crafty indeed, and for once Ichigo was grateful for the blond vampire's interference.

Aizen on the other hand, looked none too happy with this news. While his pleasant countenance had cracked to reveal a stony mask beneath, Ichigo didn't think he was truly showing all the anger he really felt at Urahara's proclamation.

"And?" the duke asked airily. "I am sure there are countless other Gin Ichimarus on this continent." Urahara's mild demeanor didn't waver.

"Oh, certainly," the priest acquiesced. "But how many of them were the exact same age as your companion, vanished roughly the same year you acquired him, and had a grudge against the lords of this land? Count, did he not mention that when you confronted him?" Ichigo's focus didn't stray from Aizen's now-snarling face as he answered.

"He did," Ichigo replied, playing along. "He also attempted to openly provoke us in Budapest just a few years prior. And he directly admitted he lived in our territory as a child, until someone took him from here." It wasn't a lie, of course; Ichigo just omitted the fact that Ichimaru had never confessed that particular fact directly to him. Besides which, he enjoyed watching Aizen's cleverly laid trap backfire on him.

"Oh dear, this certainly does change things," Isshin mused, rubbing the whiskers on his chin. "Since it appears he was from our village in the first place, and he seems to have been attacking our flock unprovoked, I would say his death was fairly earned. Wouldn't you, Duke Aizen?"

The man in question was clearly trying to contain his temper, although no one present doubted in the least that he was currently suffering a great fit of pique. His normally stoic retainer even flinched, no doubt because he was well aware of the wrath Aizen's party was sure to suffer once they were away. But even Aizen surely knew by now that he was leaving empty-handed.

"I suppose so," he ground out, the jagged sound of his voice causing the corners of Ichigo's mouth to tug up into a half-smile.

"Well, I believe that settles it!" Urahara chimed happily. "I shall make no report of these proceedings to Rome for the time being. Unless His Grace would like them recorded?" Aizen was no fool; he implicitly understood the priest's meaning. If he sought retaliation, he would bring the governing body of their people down on him from Rome - and many of those vampires were already looking for any excuse to censure him anyway. Instead, he waved his hand dismissively.

"That will not be necessary, Father," Aizen replied, his calm countenance returning. "I believe this discussion is now at an end anyway, is it not?" Even though his words were pleasant, there was a clipped quality to them that belied his true intentions.

"Certainly!" Isshin boomed, cheeks rosy and eyes glinting as he stole a furtive glance at Urahara. "Now that this unpleasantness has been settled, would Your Grace care to join us for a meal or entertainment? It wouldn't be what you're accustomed to in Escalona, but you would not want for pleasant company." Instead of continuing the chatter, Aizen planted his palms on the polished table and pushed himself up.

"Thank you, but no," he replied, straightening his cravat as soon as he'd reached his full height. "It seems as if there will be more snow soon, and I would continue my winter holiday before the roads out of here are impassable." Ichigo well knew this was merely an excuse, but didn't protest; he was glad to be rid of the fellow.

"That is certainly a shame," the Marquis replied, a bit insincerely as well, Ichigo thought. "It promises to be lively here with my whole family in residence this year. But you will do what you must. Perhaps we will see you in Budapest next year." Isshin stood and extended his hand across the table, compelling Aizen to take it for a firm shake. It was clear the younger Duke wanted nothing to do with the handshake, but courtesy compelled him alone.

"Shall my man see you out?" Isshin asked pleasantly, although the implicit meaning was clear. Aizen had overstayed his welcome.

"That's quite alright," the Duke replied, pulling his gloves on. "My valet and I can find our own way out. Ulquiorra, come. The night is still young." On his order, the two Spaniards turned on their heels and left the room with a flourish.

The entire room seemed to exhale at once, the pressure escaping with the two villains. Ichigo glanced to his father, a rare grateful look crossing his features.

"Thank you, Father," the redhead said in a low voice. The Marquis favored his son with a cheeky grin, and Ichigo immediately knew he should've kept silent.

"If you really want to thank me," the older vampire said quietly into Ichigo's ear, "You'll hurry up and make Lady Inoue your Countess. I'd like to have grandchildren before I'm old and gray, you know!"

Ichigo's blood rose sluggishly to his cheeks until he was nearly the same color as his hair. He resisted the urge to pummel his father out of respect for the amount of help he'd just dealt him, but it was certainly a hard-fought battle.

"Shut up, old man," he grumbled, walking stiff-limbed toward the parlor door. Behind him, his father's jovial chuckle rang in his ears.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Twenty

**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness, religious topics, sexual situations. Should be read with the lights off.

**Spoilers:** This is AU. We don't need spoilers where we're going.

**Disclaimer:**These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

* * *

A soft blanket of snow reflected the moon's pale glow while slivers of golden firelight sprinkled the silvery expanse. The smell of firewood and some incomprehensible mixture of fruit, vegetables, herbs, and sausages hung hazily around the small wooden home. There was even a pretty evergreen bough wreath decorating the door for Christmastide.

Orihime smiled. For as much as Rangiku detested menial household chores, their home certainly seemed to have missed her presence very little. She couldn't help but wonder with a sad smile if her sister would soon feel the same.

Even so, the soon-to-be Countess fairly thrummed with excitement. In an earlier bout of self-consciousness, she had even wondered if the Count could sense her nervousness; indeed, he had been giving her a few quizzical looks along the way there. But then she reminded herself that he was no mind reader and could probably only feel her excited heartbeat through the thin material of her gloves.

The carriage had been stopped for several silent minutes before she finally said, "Is this really alright?" The Count's eyebrows tugged toward each other as he gave her a pensive look.

"Chad is a more than sufficient chaperone," he pointed out, his voice thick with confusion. "And I know you've a clove of garlic in your bodice. The whole carriage reeks of it." Orihime's cheeks nearly glowed as he pointed these things out, all of them precautions for their solitary ride to her sister's cabin. But that wasn't what she had asked about.

"No, I meant..." she began, studying her hands as she spoke. "I meant, is it alright for you to sneak away from your mother and father like this?"

The Count's cheeks colored a pale red as he cleared his throat. He looked away in clear embarrassment at having misunderstood the subject. Worse yet, his sudden embarrassment affected Orihime, causing her to blush and look away in return.

"I told them we were going to your father's land to collect some things in secret, if that's what concerns you," he responded, his voice a shy grumble. Orihime's eyebrows shot up as she lifted her head to look at him.

"But I don't have a father," she innocently corrected. "He passed away when I was three." The Count turned to stare at her with something akin to astonishment.

"You may not, but Lady Inoue does," he corrected with a small grin while Orihime blushed again at her own naivety. "But it doesn't signify. Father is too busy indulging in flights of fancy over imaginary grandchildren or what have you, to worry much about where we go." This only assuaged her worries part-way, as was shown when she drew her eyebrows together and her little bow of a mouth assumed a cute pout.

"And your Mama?" she asked. Orihime was truly solicitous of the Marquise's good opinion; she had always been fond of the beautiful older lady, but now that she was honestly going to be her daughter-in-law, Orihime was even more determined to keep herself in the great lady's good graces.

"Mother is busy with Karen and Yuzu," the Count replied while scratching his cheek. "And I believe Tatsuki and Rukia will keep her busy as well. We'll scarcely be missed."

Orihime's mind was eased by this. Having no other family but Rangiku and her late brother, she had little understanding of the workings of a larger and better bred family. She had assumed that after not having seen their son in several months, the noble couple would bristle at being once again separated from him. But this seemed not to be the case, and it relieved her to know that the two of them were more or less free to do as they pleased - within reason, of course.

"Alright, then," Orihime said with a nod, regaining some of her enthusiasm. "Will you be coming in with me?" The Count blushed, clearly seeming to recall something of which Orihime remained ignorant.

"That's quite alright," he nearly squeaked. "I'll be out here if you need me. All you have to do is call." Orihime gave a small pout; she had very much wanted her sister to meet her husband-to-be and for the two to be as close as brother and sister. She knew it was likely an impossible dream, he being nobility and a vampire while her sister was as far from either as possible. But she still had nursed that tiny hope nonetheless.

"I'll try not to keep you waiting," she finally said, reaching over to plant a warm kiss on his cool cheek. The Count cleared his throat, as he now seemed to be aware he was blushing, and looked anywhere in the carriage but at Orihime. His charming awkwardness made her smile, but she dared not linger any longer. She opened the carriage door, letting in a burst of cold air, and in a flutter of skirts was gone.

As soon as the door was shut behind her, Ichigo blew out a breath he'd been holding and slumped against the seat. He could finally relax. Aside from his own nervousness, the stench of garlic in the tiny carriage was almost overpowering.

Odious women! He knew Tatsuki and Rukia had put her up to wearing it. They saw it as an amusing diversion to use such treacherous tactics on him. Ichigo made a mental note to write to Rukia's brother soon with some menial tidbit to land Renji in hot water as payback.

He was just deciding between whether to claim Renji had damaged a bit of china or had spooked one of his hunting hounds when the curtain on the carriage window fluttered. The delicate sound of flapping wings filled the cabin as Ichigo's eyebrows rose. He recognized the little golden bat that had entered his carriage, and upon seeing her he knew one thing indisputably.

He was going to be in deep trouble.

* * *

Orihime rapped on the heavy oaken door with the heel of her hand. It wasn't a very loud sound, so she wasn't at all sure her sister would hear. She was rapidly losing the heat she'd managed to maintain in the Count's carriage and only hoped her sister would answer the door soon.

Just as she raised her hand to knock again, the door swung open with a loud creak. Before Orihime could even process what had happened, she was tangled in an enthusiastic pile of blonde hair and breasts.

"Orihimeeee!" Rangiku cried, tears streaking her happy face. "You're back! Why did you wait outside so long? You're going to catch your death out here, come inside!" Rangiku pulled her little sister across the threshold, chattering happily until they were situated before the warm fireplace. Then the older girl stopped and put Orihime at arm's length to admire her new clothing.

"You look so... rich!" Rangiku observed happily. "That cute Count must have really taken a liking to you!"

Orihime blushed, suddenly becoming very aware of the difference in dress between her and her sister. While it was true that Rangiku was dressed better now than Orihime had ever seen - she reckoned this was due to the Count - Orihime still outshone her in her simple riding clothes.

"Yes, I..." she began, still worried about her sister's approval, "I came to tell you that we... We're getting married, Rangiku! Now you don't have to worry about me anymore, and you and Mr. Hisagi can start a family of your own!" Orihime smiled to cover her awkwardness, but the penetrating look in Rangiku's eyes told her the other girl wasn't fooled.

"Oh, you silly girl," her sister said, hugging her once again to her oversized bosom. "Stop thinking you're a burden. You've done more for all of us than you know." Orihime couldn't help but think that her sister might be right, but for entirely the wrong reasons. And that, in turn, caused a familiar prickle at the back of her sinuses.

"Shh, shh," Rangiku soothed as Orihime sniffled, then burst into sobs. "There, there. Why are you crying? This is wonderful news!"

"B-But..." Orihime began, "We won't be able to see each other now! It won't be the same anymore! I'm so sorry, Rangiku!" Rangiku simply shook her head and smiled.

"Don't be absurd, Orihime," she chided. "That's what happens when you grow up and get married. I'll have Shuuhei to keep me company, and you'll have that ridiculous rich Count and his houseful of servants to dote on you, right? And you can always come visit whenever you feel like." Orihime didn't dare contradict her on that point; how could she explain that she wasn't going to grow older anywhere near as fast as Rangiku would? Instead, she chose another part of Rangiku's speech to respond to.

"Ri-Ridiculous?" she asked without a hint of anger. "Why do you say he's ridiculous?" Rangiku released her little sister and gave her a naughty grin. Orihime recognized the look and began to blush.

"That hair of his for one thing," Rangiku noted, raising a finger as she spoke. "And he's so shy and innocent! I was worried at first that he might be a devious old pervert that takes advantage of poor young girls, but then I came to find out that he hasn't the first idea what to do with a girl!" Orihime stared, wide-eyed in mortification. Her sister really had no idea of exactly the depth of the situation, but her observation still cut to the heart of the matter. Rangiku merely stared off into the room with her finger on her chin, reasoning it all out to herself.

"Then again, if I think of it that way, you two are perfect for each other!" Rangiku exclaimed joyously. "Two blushing virgins! You both need someone to gently take you in hand... Of course, if you're feeling too shy about it, I could always teach him for you!" Orihime's complexion had gone absolutely scarlet.

"Rangiku!" she chided, the embarrassment obvious on her face. Her older sister simply laughed.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" she cried, barely suppressing her laughter.

"You're awful!" Orihime scolded, her face now buried beneath her hands. There was no real tooth in her voice and Rangiku could tell she wasn't really angry; she was only mortified. After a good, small chuckle, she allowed her face to grow more serious.

"Honestly, Orihime," she began, "I'm glad. He'll be able to give you all the things we couldn't. Don't make that sad face at me - you deserve to be showered in riches. You're a good girl." Orihime could see the beginnings of a sad smile on Rangiku's face and reflexively responded with a determined look of her own.

"You do, too, Rangiku!" she insisted, hearing the implied self-depreciation in her sister's voice. "Mr. Hisagi had better treat you well! Has he made you an offer?" Rangiku smiled brightly, lifting a single finger as she did so.

"Oh no," Rangiku replied, "I told him we would be married with the money your Count left us! He didn't argue at all!" Orihime reasoned that she would've found it incredibly odd if he _had_argued; it was common knowledge that the blacksmith was over the moon for her blonde sister. To her, this just followed a normal pattern in their relationship - Rangiku called and Mr. Hisagi dropped whatever he was doing to answer her.

"Speaking of which," Rangiku continued, her voice growing serious, "I know I'm not expected to attend your wedding, and I'm sure the Count doesn't want the other nobility to know where it is you came from..." Orihime could see that even though her sometimes flighty sister had resigned herself to this mundane reality, she was still a little put out by it. Still, she wanted her to be happy, and there was no one she'd rather have with her on her wedding day.

"It doesn't matter!" Orihime said, determination shining in her eyes as she grasped her sister's hands. "I'll ask the Count if you can come, too! He's already told his father that I'm a lady from a noble family, so we'd just have to give you a nice dress to wear, right?" Regardless of the logic in such a proposal, both girls smiled broadly at each other, their eyes dancing with love and joy.

"If he'll have me, I'd love to be there," Rangiku said happily. A moment of understanding silence, the kind reserved only for sisters, passed between them before Orihime remembered the other reason she'd come to her sister's house. Her face revealed her thoughts as she startled, then reached into her pelisse for what she'd come to deliver.

"Here," she said gently. "I think this is yours." Rangiku looked quizzically at the tattered little rag doll that Orihime placed reverently into her hands for a moment before recognition dawned on her face.

"Where did you get this?" she asked, voice full of quiet awe. Orihime couldn't hide the faint sadness on her face.

"The... There was a man with white hair," Orihime started, "He helped the Count kill the wolves in the forest - the ones that had been killing people!" Rangiku's eyes widened as Orihime spoke. The younger girl rarely lied to her sister and felt guilt lance her as she told this one. Still, she wanted to shield Rangiku from the ugly truth. Whatever else he may have done, she thought Gin would at least want Rangiku to remember him in a good light.

"How strange," the older woman said pensively. "That night I passed out, it seemed like he was the one who grabbed me, but I thought my mind was playing tricks on me..." Orihime's heart raced as she remembered that Gin had said something like that to her. She hadn't thought of it since the night she was kidnapped and the Count hadn't mentioned it, so she had put it out of her mind. But now she was regretting that oversight.

"You passed out?" she asked nervously. "Were you hurt?" Rangiku seemed to be thinking, eyes narrowing on the doll she held in her hands.

"I can't remember it clearly," she said softly. "I thought he grabbed me right before I passed out, and Shuuhei said I lost a lot of blood. I know there was a fight outside, though - the shutters are a mess now." Orihime's mind whirled, trying to think of a story believable enough to convince Rangiku not to think too hard about this.

"I bet those wolves attacked you," Orihime volunteered, getting into the spirit of the yarn as she told it. "They attacked you and Mr. Ichimaru saved you from them!" That sounded suitable, and Orihime's perseverance was rewarded when Rangiku's mouth stretched into a reflective smile.

"Yeah," Rangiku responded, "That sounds like my Gin."

* * *

Ichigo could feel cold beads of sweat gather on the back of his neck. Of course, any man or vampire would begin to perspire when looking straight into the smiling brown eyes of their doom.

It washed over him like the tide then. How pointless this all had been. How foolish he'd been. How much trouble he was about to be in. He suddenly felt himself drowning in his own helplessness.

Masaki Kurosaki sat across from him in the suddenly too-small carriage, giving him a look that was entirely too placid for his own good. Ichigo swallowed as inconspicuously as he could, hoping in vain that his mother couldn't see his nervousness.

"Ichigo, dear," she said sweetly, "Aren't you going to go inside? It's very rude to snub your future in-laws like that." He scowled unconsciously, distracted from his fear by puzzlement.

Was she angry with him? He had more than expected her to be, but something about what she'd said and the way she spoke made him think otherwise. With his mother, it was always hard to tell when she was upset at first; she would either bite her tongue and wait for the situation to pass, or she would find it so intolerable that she would give everyone in the room a firm yet polite set-down. So while her initial words seemed encouraging, Ichigo didn't want to get his hopes up. He'd much rather remain wary for when she went in for the kill instead.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he lied lamely, looking away from his mother's piercing eyes. Masaki's face changed in that instant from a smiling mask to one of clear sympathy.

"Ichigo," she began gently, "Come now, I was only teasing. You needn't get into one of your sulks. I'm not angry." Knowing that his mother wasn't angry with him lifted a weight off of Ichigo's shoulders and allowed him to cross his arms with a sullen 'hmph'.

"I'm not sulking," he said, nearly pouting. Masaki's laughter rang through the carriage like tiny silver bells.

"Then what is all this?" she asked, still smiling. "Are you upset at being caught out by me? Rather me than your father, at least." Ichigo visibly winced. His mother reacted with sympathy, reaching across the carriage to lay her hand over his. Ichigo still refused to meet her eyes.

"I have no objections, so you may rest easy on that account," Masaki said gently. Ichigo finally raised his eyes to see the tenderness in hers.

"Unlike your father, I do not have to adhere to certain public standards," she continued with a small smirk. Ichigo's face contorted in confusion.

"Of course you do," he said, puzzled. "You're a Marquise and a gentlewoman." Masaki hid her smile demurely behind her fan, as well as the faint blush she was now showing. It was her turn to drop Ichigo's gaze.

"On that last count, you are quite mistaken, Ichigo," she said quietly. As Ichigo's eyebrows drew together, his mother sensed his confusion and continued. "Has your father ever told you how we met?"

Ichigo's mouth was open for only a moment to allow the "yes, of course" to fall automatically out, before he realized something. No, his father really hadn't said how he'd met his mother. Ichigo had always simply assumed they'd met at some ball or rout. It was obvious that Masaki had been human-born; his father's father had always been chilly and stern towards Masaki and her children, and he'd never seen his maternal grandparents. It was easy to see that his parents' match had not been approved by at least the Kurosakis, but he'd never known why. Isshin had never been shy about extolling his wife's many virtues, but even with all the background noise, Ichigo couldn't recall that particular item ever being discussed. Therefore, Ichigo had figured it to be of a sensitive nature and hadn't pried.

"I'll take your lack of response as a no," Masaki continued after nearly a full minute of silence. When Ichigo still didn't reply, she spoke again.

"I was not born to a noble family, Ichigo," she said softly. "My family were farmers and I, myself, was a milk maid." Ichigo's eyebrows were hovering somewhere near his hairline. All these years and his father had never once mentioned it. Even still, some part of Ichigo wanted to deny that; it wasn't right at all to think of his mother as some common milk maid! His mind scrambled to find any evidence that she was pranking him.

"But... I've seen your lineage!" Ichigo protested, referring to the documents he'd seen verifying his mother's parentage. Surely she'd been some nobleman's by-blow and just left to the farmers to raise. But all Ichigo's protest did was draw a sad smile across her face.

"Forgeries," she said simply. "Your father and Ryuuken had them made to fool your grandfather. I doubt he was ever really fooled, though. It was all clumsily done - you know how enthusiastic your father gets." He knew all too well how enthusiastic his father could be in the entirely wrong direction at least. But then something else occurred to Ichigo, something that had been the crux of his problem with his father for the past year.

"But if that's the case, then why was he so adamant that I should marry Rukia?" he asked, eyebrows drawn. For someone who was willing to marry a common milk maid, he seemed awfully eager to make sure his son married a pure-blooded aristocrat. Masaki's eyelashes lowered to fan prettily across the apples of her cheeks.

"I imagine he doesn't want his son to receive the same censure he did," she replied in nearly a whisper. "He only wants your happiness, Ichigo. He felt so sure that once you were happily settled, your... illness would resolve itself. And of course that Lady Kuchiki is a woman of a stout enough constitution that she could wring it out of you, if not." The slight change in subject brought a genuine smile back to her face, and a frosty blush back to Ichigo's.

"_Too_stout if you ask me," he grumbled. "I love Rukia dearly, but I could never live with her, let alone make her my wife!" Masaki giggled behind her fan.

"We have both of us been very silly about the whole deal, I believe," she confessed, laying a hand upon Ichigo's coat sleeve. "I do think you would have gotten along comfortably with Lady Kuchiki, and perhaps even grown to love her as a man loves his wife. But it is now clear to me that you respond better to a gentle hand than to one holding a whip." Ichigo's blush abated enough for him to crook an incredulous eyebrow.

"You just _now_realized this?" he asked, only half teasing. "You never noticed that I'd rather obey you than Father?" Masaki now looked genuinely curious.

"Well, I suppose I never thought of it that way," she confessed. "In any case, I only wanted to tell you that I support your union wholeheartedly." The embarrassment came back full force, causing Ichigo to glower again. He truly appreciated his mother's support, but he'd rather not hear this from her.

"I thank you," he replied automatically. "But does that mean Father doesn't? I thought he'd be happy so long as I was safely married off." Ichigo left out the obvious tenet that the marriage be to a noblewoman for his mother's sake; it was to be understood without being spoken, anyway.

"Oh, I would assume so," she said with a dismissive flick of her hand. "If not, he'll find his study a lonely, boring place to sleep come morning." Ichigo ruffled a bit at this off-handed remark. His parents both had the most tiresome way of acting like love-struck puppies over one another. He wondered if they might have outgrown their fawning if they had both been humans. And then he realized they'd have just been two old, decrepit fawning human love birds instead. The idea was enough to make him shudder.

His mother brought him out of it with another pat to his arm and a smile.

"I should go," she said quietly. "Your bride will be back any second now, and I'd rather not embarrass her." Ichigo looked a bit abashed as his mother began the process of turning back into a tiny golden bat. The thought occurred to him that he'd soon be teaching Orihime how to use that same trick.

The now-fluttering form of his mother swooped down to Ichigo's cheek, giving it a small kiss. A second later, the pretty little bat was rustling the carriage curtains on her way out. Ichigo watched as his mother's light form winged its way back in the direction of the castle until it was out of sight. A second later, the carriage door swung open.

"Count Kurosaki!" Orihime exclaimed, thrusting her head inside the carriage with a wide grin on her face. Ichigo hid his surprise with an affectionate scowl.

"You can call me Ichigo now, you know," he corrected his fiancee as she climbed into the carriage. She brought the scent of garlic wafting into the confined space with her. Ichigo simply crinkled his nose in disapproval to show his discomfort.

"I-Ichigo," she said slowly, softly. If he weren't so disgusted with the smell of the garlic right now, he might have enjoyed the sound of her voice. Until the next words she said caused his eyebrows to slide up, in any case.

"I have a favor to ask of you."


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Twenty-One  
**Series:** Bleach  
**Rating:** R  
**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness, religious topics. Should be read with the lights off.  
**Spoilers:** This is AU. We don't need spoilers where we're going.  
**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

**Author's Note: **Sorry for such a long absence! Tumblr has given me the spark to start writing again, although I've already been drawing! I know this chapter has been forever in the making, but I hope you enjoy it! Hopefully there will only be another couple chapters of this one, and then we can close the book on it altogether! Thank you for everyone who's stuck with this story so far, and I hope you'll stay with me til the end!

* * *

"What the devil possessed you?"

Ichigo narrowed his eyes at his valet's hiss, looking at him from his side. Ishida looked heavily agitated, and with good reason. Ichigo had left all arrangements for Orihime's request to him.

To the valet's credit, he'd done an excellent job of carrying them out. And there had been a lot to carry out. Learning from the experience with Orihime's arrival there, the main hall and guest room would have to be warmed, fires lit, floors swept, food acquired, dishes cleaned and polished, and certain airs put on. Luckily, Ichigo's family was used to moving in more human circles, so even his little sisters knew how to behave. Still, it was a lot to do in two days' time and Ichigo's staff had worked ceaselessly to see it accomplished.

Worse yet was the fact that all of this was for one woman (two if Orihime was counted, and the servants didn't seem to think she should be). And as much as Orihime loved her sister, it wouldn't be too much to think that others might get resentful of being put out because of her over their Christmas holiday.

Fortunately, Ichigo's family had weathered the storm with a great deal of forbearance. They had taken it with good humor, and he'd concocted a reasonably believable story for them; Rangiku was Lady Inoue's older, widowed sister-in-law, and her closest confidant, so of course it would be natural for her to be let in on her impending elopement. And as far as Rangiku knew, the lot of them were just spoiled, if slightly eccentric, nobles.

And that was fine by Ichigo. In fact, he wanted nothing more at this very moment than to have all unwanted guests (as well as all welcome guests) out of his home and on their merry way. He could wait for his wedding night - actually, he was quite nervous about it, for a few reasons - but he didn't want to wait for it with his nattering father in attendance.

Just the thought of that made him wince. Whether it was the prospect of his father offering more unwelcome advice, or of him losing control of himself and hurting Orihime because of the distraction, he neither knew nor cared. Whatever the case, he didn't want to do something wrong and botch the entire deal. And his father standing over him the entire time would certainly increase the risk of that happening.

Maybe he should enlist his mother's help.

Looking over across the blazing, warm main hall, he could see that she was rather preoccupied. Masaki seemed to be busy entertaining Rangiku, while Isshin was just excited at the prospect of another fine young lady in his son's establishment. Ichigo shook his head in consternation - regardless of what his father thought, he wasn't the type of vampire to keep a harem like some of the other lords they knew. And as he watched his mother swat at his father's hand with her fan, he knew his father couldn't get away with it even if he wanted to.

Ichigo turned back to his valet, finally ready to answer his question, eyebrows puckered toward the center of his forehead. The look he gave him was full of palpable frustration.

"You know I couldn't tell her no," he replied slowly. "It's the least I can do, as she's leaving her entire life behind." Ishida's countenance softened; regardless of the extra work this placed on his shoulders, he had also grown fond of the castle's soon-to-be mistress and couldn't bear her any ill will.

"That's all well and good," the valet replied, "But what will we do if this human girl discovers us as well?" Ichigo arched an eyebrow.

"We were willing to keep Orihime here for a month," Ichigo pointed out. "It makes no difference. She won't discover us." An uncomfortable silence settled between them as Ishida had no rebuttal. Ichigo could tell he was unconvinced anyway. Finally, after an indeterminable length of time had passed, Ishida spoke again.

"Has she told you everything Ichimaru said?" Ishida asked softly, scanning the room. Ichigo wondered if he was looking for someone in particular.

"As far as I know," Ichigo replied, keeping his voice low in return. "I assume you're interested in Aizen's work with ghouls that he mentioned." Ishida's lips became a thin line as he nodded. His eyes didn't meet Ichigo's; instead, he was looking off at the man dressed in immaculate white across the room. His father.

"It's good news," he said tonelessly. "As twisted as that sounds. It's something I'd suspected for a while anyway." Ichigo's eyes flickered to Ishida's face.

"What is?"

"That they aren't mindless. That Nemu is still Nemu. Maybe it's just harder for her to get past her hunger." Ichigo's eyes glimmered in understanding. Even though his family had patiently humored Uryuu about keeping Nemu, deep down Ichigo had always suspected that his valet was over-projecting quite a bit onto the black-haired girl. He was glad to see he'd been wrong; if nothing else, the rekindled hope in Uryuu's eyes was worth it.

"You could talk to Urahara about it," Ichigo suggested. "He's always inventing and researching." Ishida nodded, his eyes still trained on his sire.

"I've already decided to," the valet responded. "His area of expertise seems to be finding ways to subvert our natural predilections; I've no doubt that's a large part of the reason why your father has been so intent on cultivating his friendship recently, as well."

Ichigo nodded. Ishida was correct, as far as he could tell. While his father had no compunction about taking human life when it was necessary, he wasn't fond of needless killing. Humans tended to be more useful alive than not, most times, anyway. But the larger 'predilection' to which Ishida referred was Ichigo's personal disorder. It was clear that was what was being referenced.

Of course, Urahara and the Marquis had been friends for ages, so it was also just as likely that they were seeing him more often because his assistance was more often required now. But that was a depressing train of thought and Ichigo shied from it.

"How go the preparations otherwise?" he asked, changing the subject. Uryuu removed his monocle and began cleaning it with a handkerchief he'd stowed in a vest pocket.

"If you mean whether they're advancing apace, I'd say they are," he sniffed. "It has been rather a bother otherwise. You wouldn't believe how low Lady Inoue's sister insisted upon her décolletage being for her gown! And for Lady Inoue's, as well! It was beyond the bounds of decency!"

Normally, Ichigo would've found his valet's consternation amusing. But considering what had happened the last time he'd seen Orihime in a low-cut dress, he was just a little grateful for his indignation. He certainly didn't need to be distracted by his fiancée's generous breasts during the ceremony, of all things; she was already well distracting enough as it was.

* * *

Another night, then day, passed uneventfully. Orihime wondered if the wait might not just kill her before she was already agreed upon to expire.

Of course, that was to be in a controlled environment, so she could hardly feel fear at it. It was agreed that the Count would be the one to do it; not only would he feed on her until the point of exsanguination, but he would also be the one to open his veins and provide her with her new life. She would hardly want anyone else performing the deed, nor did she think he'd be able to stand knowing anyone but him had been the one to do it. Of course, there would be people watching; Ishida and Tatsuki had already appointed themselves the task, and Orihime had heard that even Sado would be there. Understandably, the Count had been wary of having his parents there - it was a rather personal rite, after all - and his staff had agreed to keep hidden unless otherwise needed. They would at least have the illusion of privacy.

None of that was to say she wasn't nervous. Orihime was more jittery than she'd ever been in her entire life. And while she appreciated Rangiku's company, having her sister here and keeping up the charade for her was still stressful. While the others were perfectly at ease in deceiving the blonde - Orihime supposed from the practice of several human lifetimes - she was not yet used to it. At least Rangiku herself was eager enough to write off Orihime's nervousness as being due to virgin wedding jitters.

So it should have come as no surprise to her when she found herself ambushed by her older sister in her own room.

"Sooo..." Rangiku grinned from her spot, sitting right in the middle of Orihime's bed. Orihime knew the lilt of that particular expression; that meant Rangiku wanted her to go ahead and spill the latest gossip. Outside of the fact that most of the people in the castle at the moment were vampires, though, Orihime had nothing of interest to tell her. Instead, she stood before her sister in her night shrift, looking for all the world like a startled deer.

"Umm..." Orihime stammered. "I don't really..." Rangiku wasn't buying it for a second, and with a mischievous grin, she grabbed her sister's hand and pulled her down to the bed beside her.

"Oh, don't give me that!" Rangiku half-scolded. "I want the details! How much have you done with the Count?" Orihime's jaw dropped open while her ears turned a charming bright pink. Leave it to Rangiku to get straight to the point.

"N-N-Nothing!" she stammered. "He's been very kind and proper!" The twinkle in Rangiku's eye suggested she didn't buy it for a second.

"Come now, dear!" Rangiku tutted. "You don't expect me to believe that, do you?" Orihime's mouth pointed upwards in a little caret as she tried to look indignant; mostly, she just looked embarrassed, though.

"H-He hasn't!" Orihime exclaimed. But her lasting guilt kept creeping through her countenance. "Well... Not really."

"I knew it!" her sister clapped with glee. "Tell me everything! How was it? How _big_ was it?"

"Not like that!" she continued. "He only touched me! A-And we were interrupted! And his family has been here the rest of the time and he's been busy with them and I've been busy getting ready so there hasn't been anything going on!" Everything Orihime said was true, really. But why did it feel like she was leaving so much out? Rangiku, on the other hand, merely scoffed.

"Oh, my poor innocent dear," she cooed, leaning to plant a kiss on her sister's forehead, "The two of you are going to be so hopeless!" Orihime was just a bit puzzled by this reaction, but before she could say anything about it, another voice interrupted her.

"She and Ichigo?" Rukia asked as she crept into the room. Orihime felt like she was being cornered; between the Marquise and her own sister, she knew she wasn't going to escape unembarrassed. "Oh, I quite agree!" Rangiku's mouth turned up into a cat-like grin when she saw that she had a compatriot in the room.

"Oho, another experienced woman!" Rangiku said knowingly. "We have to give my little sister a proper education before we send her off to her wedding night!" Rukia gave a firm nod while Orihime sat there, somewhat scandalized.

"You, too, Rukia?" she asked, with something akin to ashamed wonder. She had known that her sister had had some illicit lovers - Mr. Hisagi had been the most recent, but there had been a few since her brother had died. But Rukia? She was a noblelady! Maybe this was something common that other girls did, and she just wasn't informed of it? Did people normally defy the church like that?

"With that valet of yours, right?" Rangiku asked, ignoring her sister's obvious discomfort. When Rukia nodded with a triumphant smirk, Rangiku continued. "I knew it! I can't blame you, I don't think I'd be able to resist, either!"

"I suspect my brother knows, but he keeps trying to marry me off anyway," Rukia said with a devious grin. "We will soon have him convinced, at any measure!" Rangiku gave her a conspiratorial nod and a wink.

"Then you can obviously help my poor sister here," the blonde answered. "Poor, sweet Orihime needs to be prepared for her wedding night!" All color left Orihime's face as two pairs of predatory eyes landed on her.

"Oho, is that so?" Rukia asked, stroking her chin thoughtfully. "I suppose I can offer advice!" Orihime really wished she wouldn't; she was just then attempting to disappear into her fluffy bed.

"The most important thing is that he prepare you beforehand," the black-haired vampiress continued unabated. "Your womanly parts can only make enough fluid if he treats them kindly!" Rangiku nodded in sage agreement.

"Otherwise, it'll hurt," the busty woman tacked on. Orihime considered making a run for the door. Did she really need to know all this? Couldn't she just learn it when she was married? Wasn't her husband supposed to teach her, anyway? The other two ladies continued on about maidenheads and fluids and stimulation, leaving Orihime's head spinning with ideas of her body as some kind of farm machine with cogs and gears.

They continued late into the night, Orihime having tuned them out long ago. Sometimes, being a little flighty had its advantages. As Rangiku and Rukia rhapsodised over the best positions and methods of insertion (some of which Orihime had never even thought possible), the younger girl drifted away on a cloud of daydreams and fairy stories. As lurid as her imagination had gotten those past few weeks, she still couldn't bring herself to picture the things the other women were talking about.

Finally, well after midnight, the girls broke up, with Rangiku proclaiming it time for her beauty sleep. Rukia obliged, leaving them, and Rangiku was soon curled into Orihime's huge bed like a cat. Having been up quite late at night lately, though, Orihime found herself unable to sleep. Instead, she quietly left her room, padding on slippered feet to find Tatsuki or one of the Count's sisters.

Instead, she heard the soft fluttering of a golden shadow. Orihime turned to see the smiling countenance of her soon-to-be mother-in-law approaching her from behind. There was something about the way she moved, fluid and silent as a cat, that Orihime found simultaneously eerie and graceful. More than that, though; she was suddenly overcome with the inescapable feeling that she was looking at herself in the distant future.

"Good evening, milady," Orihime said politely, ducking her head and giving a little curtsey. The Marquise smiled warmly at her, although considering she was fully dressed while Orihime was in a simple night shrift, the latter felt more than a bit under-dressed.

"No need to be so formal, dear," the vampiress gently chided, "Haven't I told you already? We're to be family. Please call me Mother." Orihime lifted her head and saw an amused twinkle in the matriarch's eye. Somehow, unlike the other two girls, this made her feel more at ease.

"Yes Mother," she replied obediently. The older woman extended her arm.

"Walk with me, dear," the Marquise asked pleasantly. Even though it was an order, Orihime felt no compunction to disobey, or even question her elder. Instead, she looped her arm through her elder's and began walking, much as two highborn ladies would've done in the city.

After several paces in comfortable silence, the Count's mother turned to Orihime. "What's troubling you, dear?" she asked. Orihime's cheeks turned pink at the question as her eyes darted away.

"Umm, the other girls," she began hesitantly, unsure of how much she should say, "They were trying to give me advice. F-For my wedding night, I mean." The Marquise chuckled knowingly.

"It's a bit overwhelming, isn't it?" she kindly said. "Don't worry. I was just as nervous as you are now, but had no one to offer me advice. Our house was not as full then as it is now!" Orihime could only imagine her mother-in-law's predicament when she had first been married. She wasn't even sure if the elder Kurosaki woman had the benefit of ladies-in-waiting when she had been newly created. Certainly she wouldn't have been able to see any human relations. Still, she seemed not at all troubled by it.

"How did you get through it?" Orihime asked, trying not to make her question too direct. Fortunately for her, the Marquise understood her shyness perfectly and was appropriately circumspect.

"My husband was so concerned with not hurting me that it scarcely mattered," she replied with a fond smile. "We learned together over time. Perhaps the only thing you should really concern yourself with learning for now is how our children are made."

Orihime had only the vaguest notion of how human children were made, let alone vampire children. Rangiku had made quite sure to instruct her in the way in which they were made, and to make sure she knew that they could (and often did) happen whether you were already married or not. Her older sister was quite aware that with Orihime being as comely and innocent as she was, one of the troublesome townsmen was likely to try and trick her into his bed at some point. But past the bare basics, Orihime had to admit that she didn't know much.

"Is that... Is that much different from humans?" she asked hesitantly.

"Not at all," the Marquise said. "It works in much the same way. The only difference lies in how often we are able to conceive. Because it strains our bodies so, we are only able to conceive once every ten years or so." Orihime was actually fascinated by this. Unlike the overly embarrassing talk her sister and Rukia had tried to give, this one actually held her attention. At the very least, it explained why a woman that was at least a hundred years old had only three children.

"But how will I know I'm ready?" Orihime asked. "What if I miss it?" The matriarch gave her a knowing smile.

"Oh, you'll know," she said slyly. "It's rather hard to miss."

Orihime couldn't help but think that was simply more than a bit ominous.

* * *

Much later in the night, when the human girls had gone to bed and the rest of the household had begun to settle, Uryuu found himself restless as well. He did as he ever did in times like these; he climbed the turret just above his chambers, leading to one of the castle's ancient lookout towers. From there, he could survey the white, moonlit landscape below.

Unlike other nights, however, there was a figure already ahead of him. The thin, white clad figure leaned out of Uryuu's favorite parapet, a cigar in hand, as he appeared to be studying the castle grounds outside.

Uryuu felt his backbone stiffen at the sight of him then. His relationship with his own father was strained beyond anything Ichigo and the Marquis could imagine. Beneath their constant bickering, there was at least a kind of grudging affection (and not-so-grudging on the Marquis' part). With his own father, however, Uryuu had only ever felt something like indifference; since he'd taken Nemu in, that indifference had even hardened into something colder, like bitter resentment.

As Uryuu turned to leave the room, hoping he hadn't been noticed, his father cleared his throat.

"I hear you have received news regarding that girl's condition," Ryuuken said, betraying no emotion. 'That girl' was obviously Nemu; he never referred to her by name, something that rankled the younger Ishida even now. Uryuu's eyes narrowed as he prepared to answer.

"Yes," he replied firmly. "Before he was killed, Ichimaru mentioned that the Duke had studied ghouls in great detail." He didn't feel like opening up more for the conversation his father very obviously wanted to have with him right now.

"I hope you will not be tempted to engage in anything foolish," Ryuuken said, implying rather clearly that Uryuu was always just a bit foolish. Uryuu felt a small twitch by his right eye. It was always like this with his father.

"If by 'foolish' you mean keeping Nemu with me and trying to help her," he began, not bothering to keep the accusation out of his voice, "Then yes, I am going to continue my 'foolishness'."

Sharp, icy blue eyes turned back towards him then; Uryuu could even see them in the dark, reflecting moonlight back at him.

"I was asking if you were going to seek help from Aizen," his father clarified sternly. Even though that clarification made Uryuu feel slightly better, he was still mostly indignant.

"Why would I ever seek help from such a devil as the Duke?" Uryuu asked incredulously. His father was no longer simply calling him stupid; he was questioning his integrity as well.

The older vampire's eyes flickered away from him then, going to rest on the moon hanging halfway over the winter sky. His breath, warmed by the cigar's heat, came out in a thin stream that floated into the glittering night. If Uryuu didn't know better, he'd think there was something almost melancholy about his father now.

"Because that's what I would have done."

Uryuu felt as though ice water had been dumped down his back. He couldn't imagine his father caring about anyone enough to want to help them unless it was out of duty, let alone someone as vulnerable as Nemu.

"Would have?" he asked, throat hoarse.

"Do you remember your mother at all, Uryuu?" the older man spoke, before puffing again almost nonchalantly at his cigar. Uryuu thought about the question. It had been at least sixty years since the woman had died; he knew that as a fact. He knew she had straight black hair like his. He knew she had kind eyes. He knew she was warm, even though she was a vampire just as they were. But beyond that vague impression, no, he couldn't say he knew anything about her at all.

"Somewhat," he replied after some thought.

"She was born a half-blood," his father continued, "Just like Miss Arisawa. We would not have been allowed to be married, so I chose to be disinherited instead. The Marquis took us in as help."

Uryuu's head spun. He had never even questioned where his father had come from, let alone his mother. To the best of his knowledge, the Ishida family had always served as head of staff for the Kurosaki family, back into prehistory. Instead, his father had chosen exile rather than to give up the woman he had loved.

"But why didn-" He was cut off as his father turned to face him fully.

"I had hoped," he interrupted, "that when the time came, you could step into the role that I had left, as a nobleman." Suddenly, all of his father's disapproval of Nemu made perfect sense. If he had given up his inheritance over a half-blood turned full vampire, there would be no way Uryuu could claim his father's title with a ghoul in tow.

"I'm afraid that will not be possible," Uryuu replied with finality, a small lump forming in his throat. His father nodded, taking a puff from his cigar.

"I see," was all the older vampire said, turning back to watch the moonlight from the tower. His father had never been a man of many words, and tonight was no exception. Sensing the conversation was at its end, Uryuu turned to go.

"I'm sorry you don't remember her," his father said abruptly, just as Uryuu's foot was about to touch the first step down. It froze in mid-air, its owner not quite sure if he should continue or turn back. "She was a remarkable woman."

There was a long pause as Uryuu reckoned what to say next. His father was obviously in an odd mood, one that he didn't quite think he'd ever witnessed before.

"She was a lot like you," Ryuuken said, almost to no one in particular, "Too soft-hearted for her own good." This made Uryuu smile, regardless of his own misgivings. His father wasn't speaking out of admonition; rather, his words spoke of love and devotion, no matter how awkward.

"Thank you, Father," Uryuu replied, turning again towards the stairs. The father made no reply, nodding silently instead, as his son went back the way he'd came.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Twenty-Two

**Rating:** R

**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness, religious topics. Should be read with the lights off.

**Spoilers:** This is AU. We don't need spoilers where we're going.

**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably never be updated again, because this is the end. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

**Authors Note: **This is it, friends! Thank you so much for sticking with me throughout this story. It's taken so long to complete, even though I never thought it would. I'm just glad I finished it! Now I can move on to working on my other fics! I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Now please, sit back and enjoy the final chapter!

* * *

The next day, the ceremony went off as smoothly as planned.

It was held in the morning, as was customary. Since the castle's chapel was nestled in the inner heart of the building, there was no need to fear the sun's rays. The only concerning factor was for the majority of the wedding party to be running somewhat low on sleep, and that was no real problem anyway.

Everyone was on their best behavior for Orihime's sister. Their masquerade was executed beautifully, right down to the wedding breakfast. Unlike the day of Orihime's arrival, there was plenty of food to be had, the likes of which either sister had rarely seen. There was chicken and pork, as well as vegetables that had been stored for the winter, and even exotic figs and dates that the Kurosaki patriarch had had imported from the Mediterranean for just this occasion. Knowing that if she, Tatsuki, and Rangiku did not eat it, it would largely go to waste, Orihime ate far more than her fill.

"You should slow down," Rangiku quietly suggested, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "You haven't even had your honeymoon yet, so there's no way you're eating for two yet!"

Orihime almost choked on the meat pie she'd been ravenously devouring while the rest of the table went on pretending to eat and pretending not to notice the exchange, except for the Count, whose ears turned a vibrant shade of pink.

Of course, Orihime was nervous about that part - what bride wouldn't be? But the reality of the situation, of which her sister was blissfully unaware, was far more intimidating. The stark truth of the matter was that she would die before she lost her virginity. This could very well even be Orihime's last meal. As such, she was twice as determined to let nothing go to waste.

"Oh my!" The Marquise finally giggle quietly over her fan. She was seated close enough to the other two to overhear, but still commented quietly. "I will gladly take some if you find yourself unable to finish." While the Marquis indulged his wife's behavior - and Orihime wasn't entirely sure she couldn't eat regular food - the Count looked scandalized.

"Mother," he said, daring to brave her displeasure at the risk of giving a good impression. Orihime really couldn't understand why he'd care to keep up the appearance of perfect manners in the presence of her sister, but after a moment of regarding him, she simply figured he wanted to impress her and her sister. It was almost unbelievable to her.

"Oh, dear Ichigo," the Marquise chirped as she stole a bite or two from the distracted Orihime's plate. "We are among family here! And there is more than enough to go around!" The Count sighed at what Orihime suspected was a ruse, but he dropped the subject.

As she turned, though, she noticed how well her sister got along with the Marquise. They were almost like two of a kind when they were together. And as she looked up, Orihime realized the Marquis had noticed it, too. At least if the way his eyes kept appreciatively wandering towards her sister's cleavage was any indication, he had. His wife had already chided him more than once for it. Unlike the wives down in the village below, however, she didn't seem the least bit intimidated by Rangiku's presence.

Either way, her sister was well and thoroughly entertained throughout the breakfast and beyond.

* * *

The sun had just sunk behind the peaks of the surrounding mountains, shrouding the late afternoon countryside in darkness. Ichigo, however, was barely aware of the time.

The human guest had departed shortly after noon, tearfully embracing the new Countess and wishing both of them all the best. After scandalizing Ichigo a little more by offering him advice on the consummation of his new marriage, the busty woman left, chauffeured down into the countryside by Chad. And although he knew Orihime would miss her, he was truthfully quite glad to be rid of her.

After her departure, Ichigo had absconded to his quarters to nap while his new wife had been shuffled by the staff into her new rooms. The lady of the house's suite adjoined his, separated by a simple door. There, Tatsuki helped her prepare for the upcoming night's events in privacy.

He slept dreamlessly, as he always did. But in the twilight haze of waking and drowsing, Ichigo's fears of the past year nibbled at the edges of his subconscious mind. What if he lost control and the thing he kept hidden came back to the surface? What if it killed Orihime? Or worse, what if it skipped all necessary rituals and consummated the marriage before she was properly turned? That would be the worst disaster imaginable for all parties involved.

They had known that was a danger from the outset of this ridiculous endeavor. The time between the exchanging of vows and the final snuffing of Orihime's life was the most dangerous time. Even though Ichigo was intended to sleep, the servants dared not. They were on alert, making necessary preparations and keeping an eye on the bride. Her room had been filled with garlic, just in case, and Tatsuki had even armed herself with a small silver dagger. For if Ichigo lost control completely here, all their hard work would be for nothing. Worse yet, Orihime would have to pay the ultimate price for it. He was utterly loathe to let that happen.

Eventually, though, even those fears left him, as tired as he was. Before he knew it, Uryuu had entered his rooms and was rousing him from his sleep, rushing him around in an effort to dress him again. He allowed the valet to buffet him this way and that, still suffering from his earlier melancholic thoughts as he was. Without understanding the beast within him, Ichigo had to rely on chance for everything to go smoothly. And while he could be impulsive and reckless, some things were simply too important to gamble with.

Finally, as Uryuu finished dressing him, his daze broke.

"It's time," the black-haired valet intoned with meaning, sharp blue eyes piercing Ichigo's deep brown ones. Ichigo's face was a mask of determination; he wouldn't fail in this mission. He simply couldn't.

Uryuu led him to the door separating his chambers from Orihime's. Reaching for the handle, Ichigo took a deep, steadying breath. After gathering his courage, he finally pulled it open slowly, knowing what was on the other side would change all their lives beyond measure.

The door slowly swung inward, scraping the stone floor along the way. The chamber on the other side was lit all around with candles and a fireplace; warm, but with shadows dancing along every corner. Ichigo's vision adjusted instantly to the dim light, but the atmosphere remained low and seductive. As he padded into the room on cat's feet, he could feel his senses swimming. The room was full of her scent, the earlier garlic having been waved out through the fireplace.

Before he could be entirely swept away, though, he saw her. She was a vision, dressed all in diaphanous white with her auburn hair pinned loosely atop her head. The strands that had escaped were graceful, laying against her shoulders in wispy curls, suggesting a tousled, somewhat wild look. He had no doubt that Tatsuki had arranged her hair like that to highlight her sumptuous neck - a final, parting jab now that he was a married man.

Orihime was sitting at her vanity, studying her reflection when he entered. She watched with wide, doeish eyes as the heavy door separating her new husband's room from hers opened and shut again. Ichigo only barely registered his lack of a reflection as she began to turn towards him.

With a small jump and a squeal, Orihime broke the spell.

"I didn't see you come in!" she observed from her spot on her vanity chair. Her voice was a mixture of fascination and awe.

"We don't appear in mirrors," Ichigo explained, coming to a stop beside her chair. It was natural she hadn't yet noticed; there were precious few of the things around the castle. They simply weren't needed.

"Oh..." Orihime trailed off, as if deep in thought. Ichigo studied her face as her eyes looked past him. Her eyebrows had furrowed to form a delicate "v" between them. Desirous of her attention, he moved behind her, running cool fingers over the exposed flesh of her nape. The contact snapped her out of her reverie.

"Are you having second thoughts?" Ichigo asked. Orihime's eyes finally found his before she offered him an awkward smile.

"No," came her answer. "I trust you. I'm just nervous, I guess..." Ichigo could feel her pulse flutter beneath her skin. He wanted to be reassuring, but his thoughts were being derailed by the woman before him. Not only was she now his wife, but also tonight's dinner.

"It won't hurt, if that's what you're worried about," he offered. It was true. Not only would his bite make her mind hazy, but his saliva would numb the wound. Had his intent not been lethal, it would also close the mark quickly, preventing infection.

But these were all things Orihime would learn later. Not tonight. She only needed to let Ichigo take care of her tonight.

"I-I'm not afraid of pain!" Orihime protested, looking up at him defiantly. "I've been hurt before! I even have a scar from when I was bitten by the neighbor's dog!" Ichigo's eyebrows rose, although he didn't stop toying with one of the curls on the back of her neck.

"What were you doing with the neighbor's dog in the first place?" He asked skeptically. His wife was certainly going to be a handful in coming years. Orihime simply looked up at him and smiled, grateful for the distraction.

"Oh, I was trying to feed him! He was a cranky old dog, though! See how he got me?" With that, she drew her long, sheer skirt up her legs and lifted one knee. As she parted her thighs to present the small, pale scar to Ichigo's eyes, he felt his blood heat. Didn't she understand how dangerous that was?

Knowing Orihime, he realized she probably did not.

Ichigo reached out, placing a nervous hand on Orihime's thigh. His fingers curled into her flesh with gentle restraint; she was still much more fragile than him, after all. Then, he pushed her leg down to meet the other on her stool, a scowl of concentration on his face. Their eyes met and he watched as realization dawned on her face and color rose in her cheeks.

"Stop that," he breathed. Just the act of lowering his voice like that made the setting immeasurably more intimate. Judging from the flutter of her pulse, Orihime knew it, too. Ichigo's intention to defuse the tension in the air had gone terribly awry. Almost as if magnetized, both of them were slowly drawing towards one another.

Finally, he could taste her breath on his face. She was warm and smelled of the bread and jam from their earlier meal. Orihime wet her lips, clearly anticipating whatever might come next. However, Ichigo fully intended to enjoy this last, brief snippet of time before she was one of them. Soon, she'd be as cold as he was.

As he was prevaricating, Ichigo realized something else. The monster inside him was starting to stir. He could feel the blackness beginning to move in the corners of his eyes like worms. His time to enjoy his new bride was already running short.

"Orihime," he whispered, his mouth as dry as cotton. Her eyes were round as saucers, pupils dilating as he moved in.

And then he was on her.

Ichigo's lips clamped firmly onto the flesh of Orihime's neck. His teeth grazed her skin, delaying the moment of gratification even as he strained to maintain control. Slowly, savoring every last second of it, his tongue darted out to taste her. She was faintly salty, even through the light rose water perfume she'd been given; Ichigo thought he just might die from the anticipation then. And as his tongue bathed the spot where he would soon pierce her, she let out the most delicious little tremulous gasp. It was too much to bear.

Finally, slowly, Ichigo allowed his fangs to descend. He could feel Orihime's heartbeat; he still retained enough of his senses to know that she was dazed and swooning now. She was ready, and as his canines entered her flesh, he felt her shiver.

The rich blood flooded Ichigo's mouth, almost spilling out of the corners before he could swallow. As it gushed down his throat, he could feel himself hardening. Solely concentrating on the taste wasn't helping; in fact, the taste of Orihime's blood was what was turning him on.

Somehow, without him realizing it, his hand had drifted to one of her breasts; he kneaded the luscious mound greedily. He even rolled the hot, pink bead of her nipple between his fingers. She groaned, stretching her neck to him and clutching at his lapel with her little hands. Even as Ichigo stole the life right out of her veins, Orihime's defiant heart continued to pump strongly and slowly.

As her blood flowed freely down his throat, Ichigo noticed something peculiar. The monster that he had felt tugging the edge of his consciousness mere moments before had begun to quieten. That side of him was still there; he could still feel it within. But now the edges between himself and the demon he could become had blurred. It was no longer black and white, but a very deep gray. Something about Orihime must have eased his pain and kept the monster at bay. No matter what, Ichigo was hardly in a state to care at the moment.

He was moving automatically, a perfect predator as the process reached its climax. Giving his new bride one last, loving lick, Ichigo pulled himself away with a hiss. His thirst was slaked, but he was still muzzy from Orihime's blood, barely able to think coherently. Instead, he looked at her with lidded, drowsy eyes and surveyed his handiwork.

Her eyes were half-shut and unfocused, the eyes of a woman who knew she was mere moments from death. Her skin was as white as ice, as if to bear testament to the amount of blood she had just lost. The bite mark upon her neck was no longer bleeding, but neither was it healing. Even as her body was dying, it was fighting to live; it was more concerned with continuing to support her failing vital functions than healing the two open wounds on her neck. And even as attractively tousled as her hair had been when he entered the room, it was now falling from its bindings in graceful little wisps. In that moment, Ichigo was struck with just how beautiful Orihime was; a perfect flower, plucked at its most pristine to be pressed and preserved for eternity.

Still, he could feel the shadows stirring in the corners of the room, and vaguely remembered that there was something else he needed to do. As if by some primeval instinct, he pulled open the collar of the undershirt he'd thrown on earlier and then reached for the knife Orihime had been left on her dressing table by her protectors. Then, looping the long fingers of his other hand behind Orihime's head until her neck was cradled in his palm, Ichigo pulled her toward him. He nuzzled her cool cheek against his chest as tenderly as a mother does her child. In one quick motion, he tore open the skin of his breast with the knife, opening an abundant vein and a small gush of blood along with it.

As he pressed Orihime's lips to his chest, he could see her eyes drift shut. There was the smallest of disturbances, signifying that she was drinking. It was so tiny, though, that Ichigo questioned his own senses. When he finally pulled her away, several long moments later, her lips were stained red with his dark blood. But aside from a few small drops on the breast of her sheer, white shrift, none had escaped her mouth.

Suddenly, Ichigo's mind cleared. He was no longer muzzy and was free to think. Perhaps it was simply that his hunger had been sated. But it felt suspiciously like something else had happened, and Ichigo couldn't put his finger on it. Either way, it wasn't important. He could deal with it later. Right now, Orihime was his top priority.

She was quiet, although her breathing was growing slower and more labored. Her eyes had drifted back open after Ichigo had removed her from his breast, and were blearily focusing on him. As she looked up at him, a smile spread across her lips.

"Ichigo..." Her finely-boned, white hand drifted up to the side of his face, where he covered it with his own. The look on her face spoke of pure affection; he found himself mirroring it back at her.

"You finally used my given name," he chided softly. She smiled back weakly, before closing her eyes again. This time, however, Ichigo could feel it; her heart had finally stumbled to a stop.

The room seemed to have gone completely still with its new mistress. Ichigo also was entirely motionless. Had he been human, had he not given her his blood just now, this would be the end. And even though he knew that was not the case, the cold little tendrils of fear still gripped his heart.

"You seem troubled."

It was only an observation, and Ichigo didn't move when he heard his valet's voice. He knew Uryuu had been there the entire time, but his presence was still just a bit jarring. The exchange of blood was something so personal, yet most of Ichigo's staff had just witnessed it from the shadows. It wasn't easy to just shake off the feeling of privacy.

"Just thinking," Ichigo droned quietly. Tatsuki emerged from a dark corner and gently removed the body of his wife from his arms. She didn't meet his eyes, but Ichigo thought he saw something there. Pride? Or was it satisfaction? Either way, his eyebrows furrowed as his thoughts were sucked inwards again.

"Something is different," Uryuu breathed, regarding his master with a puzzled look. Ichigo could feel it, too. His head was finally clear, for the first time in over a year.

"It's gone," Ichigo finally whispered. It was as though even he couldn't believe what he was saying. The black force in the back of his mind had finally been swept away. From what, he couldn't begin to guess. But the fact remained that it had vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

* * *

After being whisked away from Ichigo, Orihime was quickly interred in the family crypt. Although he checked on her every day, it took her a week to rise. Tousled and sleepy-eyed, she woke hungry. Since Ichigo's parents had not yet left, her first meal came from their stores.

He was reluctant to take her hunting. In part, it was because he did not want to see Orihime turn into a killer. But it was also because he wanted to shelter her from this last secret part of their existence. More than anything, Ichigo didn't want her to regret everything.

He needn't have worried.

"I'll never learn how to be merciful if you won't let me be cruel first," she reminded him with a pout, one night shortly after they had awakened from their darkened beds. Loathe as he was to admit it, Ichigo was still flustered easily by her, even after having been married for a few weeks. But it was nice to see that her odd logic still remained firmly in place.

Worse yet, she'd either listened to her sister or Rukia, because every time he tried to deny her anything, she'd simply lower her neckline a little to torment him. He was no longer tempted by her blood, but that didn't mean he wasn't tempted by the rest of her body. It made arguing from a position of authority very difficult. Worse yet was the thought that this was how his father felt around his mother. Now_ that_ was a disturbing thought for him.

Finally, one night, he relented. He picked out a perfect target for her - a sickly old grandmother who lived alone. But Orihime refused.

"I could kill her," she said sadly, her ruddy brown eyes glistening. "And then her grandchildren would miss her." Ichigo was mildly annoyed that his offering had been rebuffed.

"Then what do you suggest?" he asked. He was genuinely curious, besides being just a bit miffed.

"I want someone strong enough to recover!" Orihime was adamant, and Ichigo knew he just wouldn't win this fight. Damn her morals.

Orihime's first hunting trip wound up involving honeyed laudenum, a pit trap, and a hunting hound. Ichigo finally put his foot down and insisted that any future hunts would be quite a bit simpler. Besides expending more energy than they could possibly be worth, she'd almost killed her victim through sheer surprise. If she'd ambushed someone with a weaker heart, they might not have survived long enough to even be dinner.

But as she was drinking that night, Ichigo thought he saw something familiar in the corner of Orihime's eye. It was what he had been missing.

* * *

The changing of the seasons saw the new couple making their way to Budapest. With most of the gentry finding themselves back in the cities, they were expected to at least show their faces. Besides which, an appearance from Ichigo's new bride was highly anticipated. She was an unknown quantity, and those were always particularly sought after in the social circles of bored nobility.

"I hate these sorts of things," Ichigo gritted under his teeth. His father's friend, the blond priest, stood at his elbow and thoughtfully regarded the goings on. He had thankfully left his vestments at home.

"They aren't exactly places I enjoy finding myself, either," Urahara replied, watching the twirling ladies and gentlemen. "But they have their uses." Ichigo's brows furrowed as he watched his pretty, redheaded wife and her dance partner glide across the floor. Orihime was so popular that he hadn't been able to have a dance with her all night. Never minding the fact that he usually hated dancing anyway.

"You could have called on us at home, you know."

"But where would the fun in that be?" Urahara asked, cutting a glance in Ichigo's direction. The redhead simply snorted. "Besides, I wanted to see how the new Countess is getting along."

"Hasn't killed anyone yet, if that's what you mean," Ichigo grunted. "She's almost so perfect it's annoying."

"You don't actually sound annoyed." Ichigo allowed himself a small smile.

"I'm only annoyed all these other men keep asking her to dance." Urahara hummed in agreement.

"So then..." Ichigo had a feeling he knew what was coming, but that didn't mean he liked it.

"Go ahead and ask," he huffed. There was a long pause before Urahara spoke again.

"No other incidents?"

"No," Ichigo said firmly. "Not since our wedding night, if that even counts." Another long pause followed. "Maybe I've beaten it." He knew it was naïve to think that, but Ichigo couldn't help but hope.

"I doubt it's that simple," Urahara murmured, his eyes focused on the whirling pink dress of the new Countess Kurosaki. "She certainly is the belle of the ball, isn't she?"

"She's a natural," Ichigo replied begrudgingly. His eyes didn't leave her either. He doubted his troubled thoughts would remain hidden from Urahara for long.

"She's been exhibiting signs, hasn't she?" Urahara finally said. Ichigo couldn't really deny him, so he simply grunted in reply.

"Only once, during a meal," Ichigo hedged. "Her eyes started to turn black. Do you have any ideas?" Urahara was quiet for a while before speaking again.

"Perhaps it is a parasite of some sort," he said thoughtfully. "Or it may simply affect men and women differently. In either case, it appears to have transferred from you to her."

"If we have a son..." Ichigo trailed off. The thought didn't bear saying out loud.

"Yes," Urahara answered. "He will probably be the same." Ichigo's mouth was a hard line.

"This is all conjecture, though," Urahara finally said with a smile. "For all we know, Lady Orihime may very well beat the monster into submission entirely." Ichigo liked the idea, but didn't dare to hope.

"If anyone can, it's her."

As he and his father's friend watched Orihime twirl across the ballroom, another question popped into Ichigo's mind. Something that he had been wondering about since the Christmas holiday.

"Just out of curiosity," he began, "Rukia left at the same time you did. She said she wasn't going home..." Urahara's lips quirked into a smile and his eyebrow rose.

"No, I doubt she'll be back home for a while. Her brother is quite wroth with her." Now it was Ichigo's turn to raise his own eyebrows.

"Did she..." He could tell Urahara was stifling a laugh.

"Oh yes! I even did the honors!" An elopement was even farther than Ichigo had expected Rukia to take it. Maybe she had decided she would never let her brother put her into such a position again, and had decided to take matters into her own hands. She was that kind of woman. Ichigo's lips turned upwards.

"Do you think he'll forgive her?" Urahara took a sip of his punch before answering.

"I don't doubt it," the older vampire answered. "I think that if she knew he'd never forgive her, she wouldn't have done it. But they'll be taking a long vacation down at the Italian coast for quite a while."

Ichigo smiled. As much as he didn't want to be married to her, Rukia and her lover really did deserve to be happy. He wished he could be a bat in the shadows when her damnable brother found out about it, though.

* * *

Orihime had been showered with attention this evening. Several noblemen had taken fond notice of her, of all different shapes, sizes, and ranks. Some were friendly, others were a little more so. It was clear that a few of them were even looking for an assignation, although that mostly flew over Orihime's head. She wouldn't have been interested anyway, as starstruck as she was by her own husband.

So many men of rank had asked her to dance that it had become exhausting, and even nerve-wracking. She was worried about saying the wrong thing or missing a dance step. She needn't have, though; any time she did either of those things, the gentlemen laughed and complimented her vivacity. That, in and of itself, was enough to rattle her. Being judged or chided was expected; being cajoled for making a mistake was startling to say the least.

At that point in the night, though, she had lost track of the men who had sought her hand for a dance. When the next one asked her to dance, she gave a perfunctory reply and offered her hand without even really thinking about it. Scant few seconds later, though, she wished she hadn't.

Orihime looked up into cold, brown eyes. There was a glint of malice that she recognized immediately. When she was human, she'd have frozen like a frightened deer before him. Now that she was a vampiress, she was still frightened, but she could at least retain her independent thought.

"Good evening, Lady Inoue," Duke Aizen said smoothly, before feigning reticence of his intentional mistake. "Ah, but it is Kurosaki now, isn't it?" Orihime simply smiled nervously.

"Yes, that's right." It took her a moment to remember her manners. Even though Ichigo had apprised her of most of what had taken place in their private meeting - including the fact that Aizen had requested her in exchange for Gin - Orihime still had to remind herself that Aizen was utterly depraved and evil. His smiling facade was almost too convincing.

"Well then," he drawled, his voice like silk, "My felicitations on the happy event." He bowed over her hand before kissing it. When he lifted his head, his eyes twinkled as he looked at her from beneath his carefully tousled hair. Aizen had given her pause, but Orihime was now unsure of exactly what to do with it. He had no trouble bridging the silent gap, though.

"Shall we dance?"

"No."

Orihime blinked, picturing the firm reply as the verbal slamming of a door. Suddenly, she realized Ichigo's cold hand was on her shoulder. When did that get there? Had Aizen dazed her again anyway?

"I'm cutting in," Ichigo continued, almost mechanically. Orihime thought she perceived a poorly concealed edge of fury beneath his demeanor, but she couldn't be sure. Ichigo did have a surly temper on occasion, after all.

The Duke before them simply looked hurt, although for once, Orihime didn't find him the least bit convincing. He was just as irritated at Ichigo for the younger man having thwarted his spite.

"Why, Count Kurosaki," the Spaniard drawled, "I didn't see you there. Forgive me for intruding." Ichigo's eyes were narrowed almost to lines.

"We'll be going now," Ichigo replied, throwing decorum to the wind. Orihime almost protested, but there was no time before Ichigo led her away by the elbow. Maybe nobility could afford to be that rude to one another, but Orihime couldn't help but think that Duke Aizen was not a man to be trifled with.

When they were safely off in a private drawing room, Ichigo turned to his wife. Orihime held her breath as he turned to her, but when she saw his shy, awkward smile, she couldn't resist returning it. He seemed embarrassed for the scene he'd just caused.

"Sorry about that," he said quietly. "Are you alright?" Orihime's eyes crinkled. He had a habit of asking her that, and whenever he did, it warmed her heart.

"I'm fine," she whispered back. "Although you were very naughty just now!" Her voice was playful, even mischievous as she chided him. She was barely restraining her giggles. "People are going to talk!"

"Let them," Ichigo returned, eyes sparkling. "And let that Duke hang, as well." Orihime gasped, feigning shock, and fanned herself lightly, just as Tatsuki had taught her.

"Count Kurosaki, you're very rude!" She was teasing now, as she often did. "You'll offend him!" Ichigo backed his wife against an end table, crowding her personal space and caging her between his arms. Orihime wasn't intimidated in the least. He was smiling mischievously, after all.

"Who gives a damn what he thinks?" Ichigo was hovering now, teasing because it was apparent where he was going with this. Orihime had learned how to goad him gently over the past few months; she couldn't make things easy for him all the time, after all. She put on a good show of playing coy, fluttering her eyelashes, looking away demurely, and biting her lower lip.

"Oh, I don't know," she prevaricated, drawing each word out. It was an empty phrase, used to fill the space between words and actions. In truth, all pretense of actual conversation had already sputtered and died. When Orihime's eyes flickered back to her husband, he was in her breathing space, smirking as he hovered just beyond her lips.

It didn't take long for Ichigo to close the space between them and move in for a kiss. His hand was already on her thigh, easing her skirts up. She had no doubt in her mind where this night was headed.

This was her life now. Just six months prior, Orihime had been a simple shepherdess in the Hungarian wilderness. Now she was a lady - a proper one, definitely, at least on paper - attending soirees in Budapest. And when they returned to their castle, she and the Count would begin work restoring their village. Already, her sister and her new husband had built and moved into a much better house than she and Orihime could ever have afforded before. And without constant threat of attack, the village had already become more productive; come summer, crop yields were sure to be better. Ichigo had asked Orihime to personally manage those things, as he had no head for the practicalities of it.

It was more than she had ever dreamed possible for herself, even if it was at the sacrifice of her humanity. Now she couldn't imagine what her objection might've been, she felt so little changed. She had the heart of the man she loved, a comfortable life, and a chance to make a real difference in the lives of those she loved.

And for Orihime, the last one was the most important thing of all.


	23. Epilogue

**Title:** Moon Over the Tower: Chapter Twenty-Two

**Series:** Bleach

**Rating:** R

**Warnings:** het (IchiHime), blood, scariness, religious topics. Should be read with the lights off.

**Spoilers:** This is AU. We don't need spoilers where we're going.

**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably never be updated again, because this is the end. For real this time. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

* * *

_Ten Years Later_

"And that's how your Aunt Orihime married your Uncle Ichigo and became the Countess of this land."

The blonde said it with such a smug, triumphant air that one would have thought she'd concocted the entire story herself and was especially proud of it. Her son, tucked snugly in his bed, seemed less than impressed. The boy with the snowy white hair regarded his mother with the same eyes that one would regard a particularly silly pet.

"You don't really expect me to believe that, do you?" he asked. He had heard this same tired story many times over the years. He didn't believe it, and he doubted anyone else his mother had told it to believed it, either. That last fact surprised him, in a way. He had no high opinion of the townsfolk's intelligence, but even they didn't believe his mother's fantastic story about the vampires.

Not that she told many of them. She usually reserved that story for his bedtime. But she was a notorious gossip, so Toshiro didn't doubt that it'd slipped at some point. Well, it might have, had the townswomen actually liked his mother. They didn't talk to her much. The men were a different story, much to his father's constant consternation.

The eight year old boy's blue eyes narrowed at his mother as she pouted. Her lower lip quivered as she folded her arms and huffed at him.

"Why does no one ever believe that story?" she whined to no one in particular. Toshiro sighed, pulling his blankets up to his chin.

"Because it's ridiculous and vampires don't exist," he said simply. "Whatever was killing people in the woods was just an animal." His mother's glare was like ice; he returned it in kind.

"They do so!" Rangiku shot back, her tone petulant. "If your aunt and uncle aren't vampires, then explain why they haven't aged in ten years!" Toshiro rolled his eyes and leaned back against his pillow.

"They look the same as anyone else in their twenties," the boy replied, unimpressed with his mother's logic. "Maybe you think they haven't aged because you don't actually remember what they looked like ten years ago." Rangiku looked unhappy that her logic was being dismantled.

"Then tell me why we never see them in the daylight," she said, putting her hands on her hips.

"Because we hardly ever see them, anyway," Toshiro sighed, his eyes narrowed. "It's not like they would spend the night with us. They have a castle and responsibilities." The blonde seemed to be growing a bit more rankled at her son's logic.

"Well... then..." she continued, teasing more questions from her mind. "Why do they have no children after all this time?" Toshiro almost looked offended.

"Why would that mean they're vampires?" he asked, almost disgusted. "Maybe she just can't have a baby?" Rangiku's face fell, tears trembling in the corners of her eyes. "You even made up some Spanish Duke to be the bad guy. And there's no way you can know all of those things about their servants. You don't even know their names, do you?" Now Rangiku was growing angry through her tears.

"Gin was real," she protested quietly. Whether her son took that as a sign to back off or not, Rangiku couldn't tell. Rangiku herself couldn't tell if she was genuinely hurt, or if she was just emotionally blackmailing him.

"Can't you at least _pretend_ to believe it?" she asked, prevailing upon Toshiro's good nature to outweigh his logic. Toshiro simply looked thoroughly tired.

"If I pretend to believe you, will you let me go to sleep?" Rangiku's eyes immediately brightened, her posture straightening and her hands rising in front of her chest.

"Yes, of course!" Toshiro looked away, grumbling.

"Fine," he muttered. "I believe you, Mother." His mother smiled at him like a cat before rising. She bent over his bed before giving him a small peck on the forehead. Toshiro looked like he'd just eaten something sour.

"Thank you, dear!" Rangiku chirped. She then straightened and turned toward the door, throwing a small wave over her shoulder. On her way out, she snuffed out the light. "Sweet dreams!"

As Rangiku descended the stairs, she heard voices coming from the sitting room. The house she and her small family now occupied was much too large for them. All the better, she had reasoned to Shuuhei, for she had enough love for two families. The stipend they'd been given by the Count for their living expenses was more than generous enough to support a house even larger than this, but Rangiku had never been able to convince Shuuhei to make one much bigger than the one they had now.

Still, it put the old three-room cottage she'd shared with Orihime to shame.

A light smile painted her lips as she thought of her younger sister. Ever since she'd gone to the castle on the hill, things had changed in their village for the better. It had gone from being a nearly deserted outpost in the wilderness to being a bustling little way station between mountain passes. Not only had the mysterious killings stopped shortly after Orihime had left home, but the people who had fled the village in those dark days had begun to return. New children had been born, and without the deaths, their parents had actually been there to continue raising them. As people stayed, lived, and returned, there was more labor to work the land, and with more labor there was more to eat for everyone. Times were so much brighter now than they had been ten years ago.

As she descended to the first floor, the voices from the sitting room became clearer. A broad grin stretched over Rangiku's face as she picked up the hem of her dress and dashed into the well-lit room. The woman standing before the fireplace with Rangiku's husband turned and regarded her with wide, honey-colored eyes.

"Rangiku!" Orihime exclaimed, grinning broadly. The older woman enveloped her sister in a hug, drawing her into the crevice of her large breasts.

"Orihime! Oh, are you staying long? What brings you here?" The younger woman looked abashed, a slight blush dusting across her nose.

"Oh, no!" she explained awkwardly. "I'm sorry, Rangiku! We're just passing through, and I convinced Ichigo to stop. We can't stay long." Rangiku smirked, drawing closer to her sister with a knowing look.

"Have a pressing engagement?" she whispered provocatively. Orihime blushed all the way to her ears.

"Rangiku!" she exclaimed, casting shifty glances to Shuuhei. Orihime always was shy about those sorts of things, even around her own husband. Of course, the husband was shy about them, too. And with that thought, Rangiku began to cast glances around the room to see if she could find the elusive redhead in the flesh. He rarely came inside when they did stop, probably because Rangiku liked to tease him really harshly.

"He's back in the carriage," Orihime explained with a smile. "He's very tired. We're just coming back from talking to the village elders about this year's crop rotations. He's just a bit reluctant about those sorts of things, you know." Rangiku had no head for that sort of thing, either. When Orihime lived at home, she handled the practical side of their household affairs. Now that she was gone, Shuuhei took care of those things. Rangiku had no doubt that Orihime was secretly helping Ichigo with it as well.

"How sweet," Rangiku cooed. Orihime ducked her head, her blush haven't completely faded. "You know, I was just telling Toshiro about you two as I tucked him in..." This was one of Rangiku's favorite topics to broach with Orihime, and one that embarrassed her to no end.

"Oh, Rangiku..." Orihime scolded, her face melting into a scowling pout. "Not the vampire thing again..." Shuuhei even sighed when she said this.

"You weren't telling him that again," he muttered, casting his wife a tired glance as he settled into one of the armchairs before the fireplace. Rangiku pouted at him.

"Not you, too!" she huffed. "Now, Orihime, you know I'm not going to let it go until you confess..." Orihime sighed, her lips turning up in a caret of disapproval.

"But there's nothing to confess," she protested weakly. "You're not just saying that again because we haven't had a baby yet, are you? You know how that upsets Ichigo..." Orihime looked genuinely hurt; Rangiku decided a tactical retreat might be in order. She knew there would be no way Orihime _didn't_ blame herself for their lack of an heir.

"Oh, _fine_," the older woman capitulated. "I just think it's a more interesting story than what really happened." Orihime blinked at her owlishly.

"Well, I guess vampires _are_ more interesting than the Marquis trying to marry Ichigo off to his childhood friend," Orihime said thoughtfully, her finger on her chin. "But next time, could we be werewolves? Ooh, or maybe fairies! Those are supposed to be friendly, aren't they?"

"Now you're just mocking me," Rangiku pouted. Orihime simply smiled serenely. She had learned a lot of clever tricks in the past ten years, Rangiku thought with a curse.

"Of course not!" Orihime defended seamlessly. "I just don't want Toshiro to think anything strange about us!" Rangiku failed at fighting a small laugh.

"Believe me, that won't be a problem." Orihime clearly had no idea just how skeptical the eight year old could be.

"Alright," she said with a smile. "Give him my love! I have to be on my way! I've left you some gifts on the table in the parlor." And with that, Orihime gave Rangiku a hug of her own before fluttering off in a cloud of wispy skirts. And then she was gone.

"You really should stop telling that story, you know," Shuuhei muttered as he stooped to stoke the fire. Rangiku stopped watching her sister exit long enough to bristle.

"But Shuuheeeeeeiii," she whined. She might not be able to outflank Orihime anymore, but Shuuhei was still well within her grasp. His demeanor lightened; he still couldn't deny his wife anything.

"But nothing," he said, giving the best impression of a stern schoolmaster that he could muster. It wasn't very convincing, although it did cause Rangiku to smile.

"Hmm, what is it worth to you?" Rangiku's fine eyebrows arched as she grinned mischievously. Even though the stipend was intended for Rangiku, Shuuhei did control their finances. Both of them knew that was best for everyone involved. Besides, the wheedling gave Shuuhei a reason to crack a smile.

"How about a new dress?" he offered. Rangiku looked thoughtful for a moment before giving him a calculating look.

"That might not be enough to buy my eternal silence," she reasoned slowly. If she was going to bargain with him, she might as well aim high.

"A new dress, and a new horse," Shuuhei increased his bid. Rangiku nodded in ascent, satisfied with his offering.

"Sold," she said happily. "Now, since Toshiro is abed, should I tuck you in, too?" The look in her husband's eye was more than answer enough.

* * *

Orihime stepped into the darkened carriage, the springs of the conveyance squeaking ever-so-slightly with her weight. She carefully wiped her traveling boots on the floorboard before situating her skirts. Then, she signaled to Chad that she was safely aboard. With a crack of the whip, their Spanish driver spurred the coach forward.

"How were they?" Ichigo spoke beside her, his eyes glittering. Orihime squeaked, jumping just a bit. She smiled back at her husband, seeing him leaning against the back of his seat in the darkness.

"The same as always," Orihime replied, blowing out a puff of air from her surprise. She settled under the carriage blankets, relaxing into her husband's waiting side.

"So... completely ridiculous." Orihime was briefly torn between giggling and scowling at her husband. It was true, of course, but it was still impolite of him to point it out. She settled on giggling, of course.

"Don't say that," she gently chided, smiling up at him. "She's still telling Toshiro the vampire story, you know." Orihime was sure that Ichigo rolled his eyes in the dark.

"She'll never let it go," he breathed. Orihime couldn't tell if he was genuinely exasperated, or if he was exaggerating.

"No, I'm sure she won't," Orihime said gently. "Once she gets an idea in her head, it's hard to convince her otherwise." Ichigo grunted, which let Orihime know that there was little else to be said on the topic. They traveled in silence for several more minutes, the bump and clang of the carriage their only conversation. Then, like a bolt out of the blue, Orihime remembered that there was something she had to tell Ichigo.

"That's right!" she chirped to herself. Ichigo had long since ceased to be startled by these outbursts. Instead, he looked down at his wife quizzically.

"What is it?" he asked. It was best to let her get it out before she forgot, or got sidetracked.

"Mama reminded me of something the other day!" 'Mama' was what Orihime called Masaki now. The two of them were thick as thieves, like peas and carrots. With the two of them conspiring, no male in their family was safe. With Rukia added to the mix, no male on the continent was safe. So if Masaki was reminding Orihime of something, there was probably no way it could be good for Ichigo.

"What's that?" he asked, his trepidation showing in his voice. Orihime's eyes were lidded as she glanced back at him shyly.

"Well, she said it's been about long enough," she started quietly, "That I should start feeling urges, and..." Ichigo's eyes became wider and wider as she spoke. Orihime watched his reactions; he didn't seem upset so much as nervous.

"I'll be ready to conceive a baby in another couple months."

Ichigo was clearly at a loss for words. Orihime searched his face for some kind of response, but was mostly left without any clues to his mental state.

"It's... about that time, eh?" he finally said, scratching his cheek. Orihime smiled. It was a typical response from him, but she took that as a good sign.

"Yes," Orihime confirmed with a small smile. "She advised me to cancel our plans until it's over. She said when she was ready, she didn't let your father leave their chambers for a whole week!" Ichigo looked as though he'd been hit with a hammer.

"I don't need to know that!" he squawked, ears turning red. "And neither do you! Why was she telling you that?!" Orihime was in full planning mode now, almost blocking Ichigo out entirely.

"Well, we'll need to get some cattle, and that blood purification system that Father Urahara made," she began rattling off, clearly excited by their new prospects. "We'll need to get Uryuu to set up a nursery, although that won't be for almost a year now. Ooh, he can do it when he gets back from seeing his grandfather about his inheritance! And we'll need to get a little place in the family crypt for the baby..."

Ichigo sighed, looking out into the darkness beyond the carriage windows . There was no use trying to dissuade Orihime when she got into one of these moods. She was clearly excited, and how could he blame her? She had always wanted to be a mother, and now she could have that chance. As long as it took them to even have a chance to conceive, there was no way he'd turn her down. A whole week of nothing but enjoying his wife's company certainly wasn't an unpleasant prospect, either. But as a smile crept up to his lips, he realized that he wouldn't want to try and talk her out of this, even if he could.


End file.
